


The Entail

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Edwardian Period, M/M, Medical Conditions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vaguely based on Downton Abbey. Early 1912. Things start to change at the Pendragon manor when Merlin Emrys is hired as the new valet to Arthur Pendragon, the Earl of Albion. Meanwhile a shooting party is scheduled and the Lady Morgana has to learn to deal with an antiquated law system any way she thinks she can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Entail

The Pendragon manor lay in the heart of the Somerset countryside, a few miles north of Langport. The manor house itself was surrounded by acres of parkland that merged into rolling pastures. The estate it belonged to was even larger and included farms that had been rented out to tenants, a large portion of the village of Albion, a few orchards, as well as a wide section of the forest that surrounded – and guarded – the estate's southern perimeter.

On the northern side a four hundred-foot-high military fort brooded over a hillside. It was considered the estate's northernmost boundary. This hill fort was said to have been erected in the sixth century by a military leader possessed of great wealth; the local legends said King Arthur himself had built it to defend the land against the Saxon invaders. Nobody knew whether the legends had it right, but scholars travelled back and forth from other parts of the country to poke and dig around it. None of them ever found any proof supporting the Arthurian theory.

The local legends were still very much alive, however.

This was the layout of the land as far as the estate was concerned.

In the nearby villages there were gentry homes but none could compare in splendour to the old Pendragon seat. Most were owned by individuals rich enough to maintain a fine household, but none could support the veritable army of servants dependent for their livelihood on the Pendragon estate.

This was the reason why being a servant on the estate was a very enviable position, one of the best to be had for miles and miles. If you rose in the servant ranks, you could almost call yourself a gentleman; you were looked up to as someone who had made it.

Or so Cedric reflected as he carried a polished silver tray in the dining room.

Today the room was a-bustle.

The other footmen were carrying platters of food; some were finishing polishing the silver that would be used for dinner, while the maids scrubbed the floor to make it shine.

A few of them were busy cleaning the fireplace so that a proper fire could be lit later on, while some others were asking the help of a strapping pageboy. They wanted him to push a heavy, iron-framed screen a few feet to the left.

The boy was sheepishly nodding his head, saying, “Course, of course.”

A state of breathless excitement reigned among them all. The reason for this atmosphere was their master's return. The earl was due back in less than a few hours, returning as he was with a party of friends from London.

They'd all chosen to come down to hunt and this meant that the household, which had been in a state of lethargy for months, needed to be brought up to the standard expected by the master.

Everything needed to be perfect. The rooms that had been locked for months needed to be aired, the curtains in the ground floor rooms were to be changed and the bedroom linen was meant to be replaced as well.

The kitchens would be fully working once again and all the servants would have to toil more than they'd done during the lull months.

Cedric wasn't too happy to get back to that. He'd rather enjoyed the comparative inactivity of the winter months. Nothing, though, would have prepared him for what came next.

He was about to retreat to the kitchens to get another tray when Gaius, the head-butler and most senior member of staff apart from the steward, made an appearance in the great dining hall.

Gaius cleared his throat, fiddled with his black tie and made an announcement. “As you all know, the Earl of Albion will be back home after a three month absence.”

The maids sighed. One whispered, loud enough for everybody to hear, “It was high time someone as good looking as he livened up the place.” She was speaking to one of the newly hired maids, imparting knowledge the latter evidently didn't possess. “You'll see, he's as handsome as a prince.”

Gaius brought his fist to his mouth and coughed into it.

The girls fell silent.

“As I said, his Lordship is coming back, which means that everything needs to be in perfect condition. The staff must work as a well-oiled machine,” Gaius said. “This brings me to the other item of news I wished to impart to you. The earl has personally appointed a new valet.”

Cedric made a wounded noise he suppressed only because Gaius raised an eyebrow at him.

“I know some of you,” he said, looking at Cedric, “would have wanted that position, but it's not our place to question his Lordship's choice. I trust you will welcome the new member of staff with open arms.”

“But,” Cedric began, “I have the most seniority! That was my promotion.”

One of the housemaids said, “Jealous, Cedric?”

Another one commented, “Oh, poor you. Passed over in favour of a new arrival.”

Cedric had every reason to resent his Lordship's choice. He'd worked at the estate for five years now, had risen to the rank of head footman, and that promotion was clearly his, would have been his but for this interfering person who'd got himself appointed in his rightful place. But for this, he'd have had a raise.

“I feel that I should remonstrate,” Cedric said. “The earl was clearly led on by this person, thinking he was being charitable, as is his nature.” Cedric didn't believe this for a moment, found his Lordship obnoxious, but praising one's employer always paid well. “And I cannot believe he would have done this unless he was the victim of some cunning—”

He was interrupted by Gaius saying, “Enough, Cedric. We won't dispute that decision. I'd be glad if you kept these thoughts to yourself.”

Cedric grumbled but calmed down. Gaius was the head of staff, and Cedric's job depended on him.

“I wonder what the new valet looks like,” the head-maid said.

“I'm sure he must be a very good person,” Freya, the parlour maid, said. “Or his Lordship wouldn't have gone out of his way to hire him.”

“I'd rather he was handsome,” the first girl said.

“I wonder where he's from,” said Freya. “He can't be a local lad or we'd have known who he was.”

“Oh, no,” Morris, the second footman, said. “We don't need a dashing fellow ready to steal the girls' hearts away from us.”

Cedric didn't care about the girls' hearts. He was focusing on the raise he'd just lost. Besides, a personal valet's duties were far lighter than a footman's. Cedric fancied those. No more heavy lifting and running up and down the stairs, no more serving at family meals, being glared at by his Lordship's sister.

Cedric had wanted nothing more for himself. Could have been happy as a personal valet. He didn't even wish to be a butler one day.

Maybe something could still be done. Perhaps he could find this new person's weaknesses and exploit them. He would need to be cunning but it wasn't as if he hadn't undercut his rivals' position before.

He’d merely have to wait and see.

____

The lower footmen carried down the dishes that hadn’t been touched by his Lordship and his friends during dinner.

As housekeeper, Alice ordered them put on the dresser where she reviewed them, the cook by her side, helping her make the right decision.

The best dishes, those that were too rich for the servants’ palate, would be set by for the first table’s consumption, the rest, those she deemed suitable for the servants’ table, would make up their dinner menu.

The servants' table always provided healthy, even tasty dishes and good, hearty beer. No servant had ever starved in the Pendragon household, or had had bad scraps, and this because she saw to her task very conscientiously, while never indulging anyone.

This was one of her daily duties, though nowadays nobody really cared. Back in the day, when her Ladyship had been alive, Alice had been wont to report the dishes set by, so as to receive orders as regarded the provisions.

Sighing, she realised that those days were long gone. It had been twenty-three years since she'd last discussed household matters with her late mistress.

What caught her eye tonight wasn’t the array of dishes displayed on the dresser, but the fact that Gaius, Mr Barnes that was, was absent.

They couldn't possibly begin to eat when the butler wasn't present. His absence in itself was enough to raise an eyebrow. He hadn't mentioned he'd be running an errand and he hadn't been taken ill, of that she was sure. At least not till mid-afternoon. She'd bumped into him in the hallway and he'd looked fine then.

A little absently she said, “We’ll save the apple Charlotte and the Bruxelles sprouts for his Lordship's table, as well as the braised rabbit.”

“That’ll be perfect,” the cook told her. “I brined the chops.”

Cedric blustered in. “Is it dinner time yet?” he asked, flopping down in his usual chair, the one placed to Gaius' left.

Alice smoothed down her black skirt, eyeing the head butler’s empty chair with some mild form of concern. Where could dear Gaius be? He was always very punctual. Thinking about his absence would be counterproductive however. Fussing and worrying would lead to nothing. She'd better think of the present.

“No,” she, in fact, scolded Cedric. “Not until Mr Barnes is back. We couldn’t possibly begin without him.”

“But it’s past ten!”

“Cedric,” she said again, this time thoroughly irritated. “Not waiting for Mr Barnes would be very disrespectful. Now we shall all sit down and wait for him to...”

“No more waiting is to be done,” Gaius said, shuffling into the servants' dining hall. Alice turned around, as surprised to see him there now as she had been at not to finding him downstairs at all earlier. She would have said something, made an enquiry, if she hadn't noticed that Gaius wasn’t alone.

A few paces behind him stood a young lad. He was taller than Gaius, and though his figure was obscured by that of the older man, she could already tell that he was lean.

He had dark hair and very blue eyes, God bless electricity and the day his late Lordship decided to have the whole house refurbished in a way that would allow this most modern of inventions to be bestowed on the household.

By its revealing light she could see that the young man seemed a little worn around the edges, but he had a fire in his eyes; there was something about him that told her he was not a boy like all the others she’d met during her long career in service.

He wasn’t looking down for one thing; he was frankly taking all of them in. For another, he seemed to be amused by them. He wasn’t smiling, his lips pursed, but their corners were ever so slightly quirked up.

“This,” Gaius said, dragging the boy forward, past the threshold and into the room, “is Merlin Emrys, his lordship’s new valet.”

There were a few murmurs among the servants; they were clearly apprising the new member of staff.

Judging by their faces, Alice could already tell which of them would strike up a friendship with the new valet and which of them would resent him for having climbed up the ranks without having slowly worked his way upwards as they’d all done.

But that wasn't what she was focusing on. She was peering at the cane the young man was clutching. Surely, being so young, he couldn’t possibly suffer from any perambulation problems. Could he now?

She tried to look him in the eye, but she knew she wasn’t the only one to have noticed.

Young Merlin grinned a toothy grin at them all that was quite enchanting, raised his free hand and waved. “Hello,” he said. “Er, I just wanted you to know that I’m glad I’ll be working with you, and it’s nice to meet you all.”

He shuffled clumsily, taking a step forward, which was when Alice took stock of his limp. She wondered whether he’d always had it, or if it was the result of some kind of injury.

The others saw it too obviously. The first to point it out was Cedric, of course. “Will you be able to perform your duties?” he asked, pointing at the cane.

Alice could see the hope shining in his eyes. Everyone knew Cedric wanted to become his Lordship's valet.

“Yes, sure,” Merlin answered. “I can work hard, I promise.”

“We won’t be performing your duties for you, you know,” Cedric said.

Merlin’s happy expression faded quickly. “You won't have to. I can work as much as any other man. I can try my hand at any task, no difference.”

“You’re bound to be slower,” said Cedric, unkindly.

Merlin accepted that it might be true, though it was clear he resented the words. Alice could see the young man’s hand close around the handle of his simple wooden cane.

“Only a little, I’ll work longer, if necessary.”

Freya, usually always so shy, rose from her seat and said, “I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.” She looked at her clasped hands. “We'll all help you. Oh and welcome,” she added, still looking down.

“Does his Lordship know?” Cedric asked, when he was nudged by Morris, a very unsubtle move employed to get him to shut up.

Gaius answered in Merlin’s stead. “Yes, he does.”

“Now, now,” Alice said, so that everybody would settle down into a more peaceable mood, “why don’t we sit down and have dinner?”

Those who hadn't yet took their places. Alice sat on Gaius' right and Cedric was already seated. Merlin sat next to him and soon the cook was ladling soup into their dishes.

“Thanks,” Merlin said.

Alice smiled. Finally a well-mannered boy.

Forridel, one of the housemaids, asked, “So, Merlin, where do you come from?”

“I was living in London, but I'm a country boy actually.”

Forridel brought the spoon to her lips, blew, the soup being hot, and slipped it into her mouth. “Are you?” she asked. “You do look a little like one. I can tell because I was raised in the country myself.”

“Yes, most of us were,” Freya contributed. “Not Mr Barnes, but most of us were born on a farm. I was born in the Lake District. Was your father a farmer?” Merlin's face fell. “I shouldn't have asked that, should I?” said Freya, alarmed.

Merlin cautiously tasted his own spoonful, then said, “Not on a farm, no.” Alice recognised evasiveness when she saw it. There was something the boy wasn't saying and she was all for leaving it that way.

“Has Gaius given you a tour of the house?” Will, the groom, asked, inadvertently deflecting the course of the conversation.

“It's a grand house,” Merlin said. “I've been shown the general lay-out.”

Soon enough they were too busy digging into their dinner for much conversation to take place. But the main topic was still Merlin; he was asked this and that: whether he preferred London or the Pendragon Manor, whether he liked leak or chicken soup best, or if he had any experience as a gentleman's gentleman.

There were some hints of even more personal questions, since one of the maids asked him if he had a sweetheart stashed somewhere.

“Maybe she's in service too?”

“No, no,” Merlin said, reddening. “I haven't.”

And then they all stood, head bowed a little, hands clasped behind their backs, for his Lordship, Arthur Pendragon, Earl of Albion, had just marched in, still dressed for dinner.

He was wearing a double-breasted black dress coat with a cut-away front, a white waistcoat and coat-matching trousers that immediately made him stand out as the master. As he put up his hands to order them to stay seated, he involuntarily drew attention to his golden, crested cuff links.

“Sit down; sit down,” he said, curtly.

Those who had risen sat back down, those who had just been about to sank back in their chairs.

The cook asked, “Was there a problem with dinner?”

“The quail was excellent, Mrs Smith,” he said.

The cook didn't seem too convinced. “I'm sorry if there was anything wrong with the soufflé...” she began again.

His Lordship cut her short. “No, I'm here to welcome Mr Emrys.”

Merlin rose, pushing his chair back. “Thank you,” he said, without my-lording the earl.

Mr Barnes raised an eyebrow while Cedric went puce.

Alice herself was considering saying something.

The earl said, “And to remind him that he'll be starting on his duties at eight sharp tomorrow.”

“Eight?” Merlin asked. “Isn't it a bit early? For a nobleman, that is.”

“No, Merlin,” his Lordship said. “It's not too early. You're my valet now, practically my manservant, no being...” Whatever he'd wanted to say, he didn't say it, eyeing Merlin's bad leg. “Just be there, Merlin,” the earl said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “And try to learn how to address me properly.”

Merlin dipped his head as though he was humbly acquiescing, but then he looked up from under his lashes and said, “And how's that?”

Everybody held their breaths. Nobody had ever been so outrageously disrespectful to his Lordship before. Well, not to his face at the very least.

“My lord,” the Earl of Albion said. “That's what you should call me.” A note of irritation could be discerned in his lordship's tone and yet there was also an element of amused surprise in it that Alice didn't fail to recognise.

Before she could have wondered as to its meaning, Merlin replied. “I'll try and remember,” he said, pausing so nobody could be quite sure if he'd say anything more or if he was done. Then he added, “My lord.”

The Earl of Albion guffawed out loudly. “My god, you've got a mouth on you.”

“Me, my lord?”

His Lordships shook his head, incredulous. “Yes, you. You.”

Merlin bowed.

His Lordship flushed and Alice well knew he hadn't done that since he'd been a boy.

“Well,” he said, salvaging his dignity, “try to at least be punctual or I'll come down and wake you myself.”

Merlin made a military salute. Cedric was about to have a conniption fit, Freya giggled and Forridel looked suitably impressed.

Apparently not knowing how to respond to that, his Lordship retreated to safer ground, using formality as his shield. “I wish a good night to you all,” he said, and turned upon his heels.

As soon as he'd gone, Gaius burst forth saying, “Merlin, what was that?”

“Nothing,” Merlin said.

“Actually that was seditiousness,” Cedric commented. “Truly socialist, no, revolutionary behaviour.”

Merlin's face got red with apparent anger. “I wasn't born a servant,” he said. “And that shouldn't matter.” Under his breath he said, “My lord, my...” Then he bethought himself and like the boy he still was he left in a huff, stomping his feet as though angry at the world for not understanding his plight.

Gaius made to go after him, but Alice stopped him. “He's just a boy,” she said.

Gaius' desire to scold the young recreant must have evaporated, for he stayed put. “You're always wise, of course, my dear Mrs Corr.”

The fact that Gaius recognised her worth filled her with warmth. “That's the wisdom that comes with age,” she said softly, leading Gaius back to his seat at the head of the table.

A few minutes later they were all back in their seats, cutting into their meat and baked potatoes.

****

 

Despite all he’d said, Merlin woke very early on his first day at the Pendragon manor. The cause of his wakefulness was a combination of having to sleep on a new bed, some small amount of trepidation, and this feeling he had that told him to wake early to show his Lordship he wasn’t going to be a worse servant than the others.

He hadn’t been one for more than a day and frankly most of the tasks that would be allotted to him didn’t fill him with joy, but he wasn’t any the less worthy because of what had happened to him. He could do any job and he’d be able to understand the niceties of this one in time.

So he’d kept tossing and turning and waking at regular intervals to see if the sun was up yet. The last time he did this was at six in the morning. Since it was a decent time to get up, Merlin had a wash, if a quick one, the water being cold in the servants quarters, and dressed himself, trying to remember if he had committed any faux pas along the way.

His uniform had to follow very precise regulations and be immaculate to boot. Gaius had given him a long speech about that the day before, when he’d picked him up at the nearest station.

Once dressed, Merlin limped to his cane and picked it up. He put some of his weight on it and sighed, making his way down to the kitchens.

When he got there, he wished a bright good morning to the cook, and very politely asked if he could have some of the breakfast porridge.

“Sure,” Mrs Smith said, giving him a bowl and favouring him with a smile. “I meant to tell you that I left the tray you’ll have to bring up to his Lordship on the dresser. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

All the members of staff had joined them by the time Merlin was into his third spoonful of porridge.

Nothing much had changed since the evening before. Those who’d behaved in a friendly manner yesterday were still friendly today and those who’d taken a sudden dislike to him still gave him the cold shoulder.

“Don’t mind him,” Freya said, intercepting him as he was trying to negotiate the stairs a short while later. “He just wanted to be valet.” Freya made a move as if to help him with the tray he was cumbered with.

Merlin had already hooked his cane around his forearm so he could use both his arms to carry his load. “I can manage,” Merlin said. And then he added, “Who? Cedric or Valiant?”

“Cedric, I meant,” Freya said, keeping close to him. He knew she wanted to help, but it was frustrating to say the least.

“I can see why he’d act that way then.” Merlin gave her a small smile, and thanked the Lord he’d reached the second floor landing.

“That’s his Lordship’s door,” Freya said, pointing at a large oaken door.

“Thanks.” Merlin gave her a parting nod. “See you later then.”

Freya lowered her head to hide a small grin, going her way with a bounce to her step.

Merlin didn’t knock on the earl’s door. He simply put the tray down on the floor and turned the handle. He walked softly into the room, noticing that its owner was still sleeping soundly.

Merlin was about ten minutes early but he scoffed nonetheless. The earl was sleeping so soundly, Merlin doubted he’d have woken in time to enforce his eight o’clock wake-up call. Eight o’clock, my arse.

Mentally berating the aristocracy, Merlin moved over to the window and drew the curtains, so the morning sunlight streamed in.

There was a moan coming from the four-poster.

Merlin propped his cane against a chair, marched back outside and carried the tray he’d left by the door back inside. He set it on the table and turned around. “Good morning,” he said in a bright tone.

The earl was stretching his arms and purring, his eyes still a little blood-shot as though he needed some more sleep.

“Well, where’s my breakfast tray?”

“On the table,” Merlin said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The earl raised an eyebrow.

“Oh.” Merlin threw a look over his shoulder at the table and then he looked at the bed and its expectant occupant. “I should carry it over there, shouldn’t I?”

The earl shifted, then his brow creased. “Can you do it?”

“Of course I can,” Merlin said, turning around so he was facing the table. He lifted the tray and slowly moved towards the bed. He could do it, hobbling a little.

Without spilling anything, he settled the tray in the earl’s lap, using its folding legs as props.

The earl craned his neck to peer at Merlin, who was bending over him. “Does it hurt?” he asked. “When you don’t use you cane?”

They were very close now, as they’d been only once before. Yet this time Merlin could properly make out the colour of the earl’s eyes, the variety of their blue, different from his own, purer in a way. “No,” Merlin said, giving a wry smile.

The earl seized his wrist. “I have a right to know,” he asked again. “Does it hurt at any time?”

Merlin shook his head, swallowing against the sudden thickness in his throat.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I couldn’t not.”

Arthur Pendragon cast a glance at Merlin’s wrist and let go of him. “You’re quite special, aren’t you, Merlin? There’s something about you.”

“Maybe my skull’s a bit thick,” Merlin quipped, straightening and massaging his wrist. The earl had a strong grip. “My lord.”

“Now you’re my-lording me!”

“You insisted!”

The earl smiled up at him, looking infinitely younger when he was wearing his nightshirt and an unguarded expression. Much less like a man of the world and more like someone Merlin could relate to.

“Eat,” Merlin said. “It’s good for you.”

The earl, and how strange it was to think of this man who was just a few years older than him like his undeniable social superior, dug in with evident gusto.

Merlin had not known many noblemen in his life, or rather none, and he’d have thought, had he been prone to indulge in such speculation, that aristocrats would be fussy eaters, too finicky and dainty to resemble any acquaintance of Merlin’s.

Instead Arthur Pendragon ate much like anybody else did, which served to support Merlin’s theory. There was no difference between a nobleman and a common man off the streets, apart from centuries of privilege.

When he was done, the earl set the tray aside, rose from the bed, washed himself at the basin and walked to the centre of the room where he stood and stretched his arms out.

Merlin stood by the bed, confused.

“You’re my valet,” the earl said, gesticulating. “Dressing me and undressing me is one of your tasks...”

Merlin struggled to find his voice. “Ah, yes, of course,” he muttered, crossing the room as quickly as he could.

A little clumsily, Merlin helped the earl take off his nightshirt, lifting it in one swift pull that served to tousle his hair.

Arthur Pendragon looked up as though, if he strained enough, he could see the way his hair now stood up in riotous tufts.

And then he pouted, looking for all the world like a put upon cherubim.

“You can find my clothes in the—”

“Wardrobe, I guess?” Merlin deposited the nightshirt he’d kept folded over his arm over the back of a chair.

The earl opened and closed his mouth. Merlin acted as though that wasn’t comical and limped his way to the big oak piece of furniture. He ransacked it for clothes, though he wasn’t sure which ones would be appropriate for morning wear.

Merlin possessed a grand total of four shirts, three pairs of trousers, and one lone winter coat that had holes in its pockets, so he couldn’t wrap his mind around Arthur Pendragon’s wardrobe.

“The maroon trousers and tweed jacket will do,” Arthur Pendragon said, sounding partly amused and partly annoyed at Merlin’s discomfiture.

Finding the maroon trousers was easy; his Lordship apparently preferred darker colours so they stood out amid the dark blues, charcoal greys and blacks. But the number of tweed jackets Merlin found upon a closer inspection, was quite daunting. Seeing this, Merlin grabbed the first one that fit the definition, together with a fresh shirt and starched collar.

The earl eyed the handful as though it wasn’t what he wanted, but he grunted his assent.

As Merlin made his way back over to his Lordship, he had time to look at his body.

Arthur Pendragon was broad-shouldered and well built, like someone who had devoted ample amounts of time to outdoors activities. He had defined muscles, especially when it came to his biceps. In his smallclothes he didn’t look too bad. No, there was much that was pleasing to the eye there, Merlin thought, as he followed the lines of the man’s abdominal muscles and spared a quick glance at his middle and legs.

Feeling hot about the face, Merlin cleared his throat and unbuttoned the shirt so that the earl could wear it.

He held it up so as to help his Lordship into it. Slowly, Merlin walked a circle around the earl, thus coming to face him. Pendragon held his chin up, arms dangling loosely at the sides.

Merlin stepped closer and started doing the buttons up.

His Lordship wasn’t meeting his eyes, but was looking distractedly at some point to the left of Merlin’s head, as though he found being waited upon perfectly natural but didn't want to make anything personal of the procedure.

Merlin was oddly grateful for that. Helping a grown man to dress was ever so strange. Shaking himself from his reverie, Merlin passed the trousers to the earl.

“You can lean on me,” Merlin found himself blurting out. “I have a bum leg, but I’m not fragile.”

His Lordship looked at him out of wide eyes, as if he didn’t know what to say to that. It felt as though Merlin had just broached a taboo topic, something that shouldn’t be mentioned. And he understood that. Unprompted, Merlin never mentioned there was something amiss with him. It was easier and safer that way. It made him forget sometimes. Although he never really did, did he?

But Pendragon knew, so he’d said it, perhaps seeking to make light of it.

The earl cleared his throat and that broke the spell. He donned his trousers.

When he was done, Merlin walked behind him and helped him into his jacket.

Once his Lordship had put it on, Merlin started smoothing the fabric’s creases, running his hand, palm flat, over the broad back and shoulders, till the garment sat on him as Merlin thought it should.

Next it was the wing tip collar’s turn, which Merlin applied. As he did, his fingers encountered the warm skin of his lordship’s bowed neck.

He was so hot to the touch, a veritable furnace, in a room that was so chilly, that the fact made Merlin wonder how it could be possible. If it was just Arthur Pendragon's nature.

Last came the cuff links. Merlin fiddled with them, trying to hold his Lordships wrist still, fingers clumsy, when he again felt bare skin.

Merlin breathed in and cursed his own clumsiness, which was making this more awkward than it should be. Merlin realised that this, this dressing ritual, was the norm for men of Arthur Pendragon’s standing, but to him it all appeared so ridiculously foreign.

Eventually, the earl tutted and put a stop to Merlin’s eternal fiddling. He batted Merlin’s hands away and made him open the palm of the one in which he was clutching the cuff links, so he could drop the tiny golden objects into his Lordship’s waiting hands.

Putting on a bit of a show, the earl folded his shirt’s cuffs back and held their edges together, lining up the holes. Then he quirked up an eyebrow as if to say, watch this and learn. He smoothly inserted the left cufflink and secured it.

“Easy,” he said, smiling.

“Yeah.” Merlin felt his face heating again.

“Hand me my pocket watch and then you can go,” the earl said.

Merlin ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Where would I find your—”

“Never mind,” the earl said then. “I’ll get it. You can go.”

Merlin’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He’d probably, no assuredly, cut a bad figure. It was just that he’d never cared or had to care about things like cuff links, fashion or etiquette before. And he still didn’t, and then the whole dressing thing had thrown him a bit.

Merlin had his hand on the door’s handle when Arthur Pendragon said, “That was appalling, Merlin, but I want you to know...” There was some hesitance in his voice, something that sounded like embarrassment. “I want you to know,” he repeated, “that your job’s safe here.”

Merlin exhaled. “Is that pity?”

“No,” Pendragon said. “It’s justice.”

*****

Gwen was carrying the breakfast tray up the stairs and paying attention to each step she took so as not to spill the contents of the milk jug perched on it, when Grunhilda, the head housemaid, spotted her.

“You should hurry!” she reproved Gwen. “You're very late.” It wasn't true, but then Grunhilda would have found something to object to had Gwen risen before dawn and done all her chores by midday.

Gwen refrained from defending herself, fearing it would prove useless, but worried her lip and tackled the second flight of stairs, making it look as though she was hurrying.

She knocked on Morgana's door and waited for her mistress', “Come in,” before she plodded into the room.

“How do you feel this morning?” she enquired, setting Morgana's tray on her bed.

Morgana studied her breakfast and said, “I'm fine, thank you, Gwen.”

Gwen stood to attention by the side of Morgana's canopied four-poster. “Are you avoiding the guests? Gwen asked. Having long been Morgana's maid, she had gained the privilege to ask questions that were rather more personal that the ritualistic enquirers of servants of lower standing.

“Percival and Leon?” Morgana scoffed. “I don't resent their presence and I'm certainly not hiding from them.”

“I never thought you were hiding. I thought you just didn't get along with them.”

“I don't,” said Morgana, stirring her tea. “But it's my brother's house.”

Gwen looked down at her half-boots.

“What?” Morgana asked, tilting her head to the side, raven locks of hair dancing on her breast as she shifted. “It's true. Arthur's my junior but he lays down the law here.”

“That's hardly fair, Morgana,” Gwen said. “He didn't choose for things to be this way.”

“No,” she agreed, slowly drinking her bergamot tea. “He didn't. Centuries of traditions contributed to make me a guest in my own house.”

“I'm sure he doesn't see your presence here like that,” Gwen said, trying to be the voice of reason. She knew enough of Arthur to be the judge of that. “His hands are tied as far as the entail...”

“The entail, the entail,” Morgana complained, cracking the shell of her boiled egg with her silver spoon. “is of the devil.”

Gwen suppressed a laugh. Morgana was always so passionate about this subject. “Well,” she said when she'd regained control of her features, “at least you can be sure Arthur hasn't invited his friends down in order to dangle them in front of you as prospective husbands.”

“He knows me well enough not to attempt that,” Morgana said, slowly eating her breakfast. “He cherishes his virility.”

“Neither of his friends is bad looking though,” Gwen, who'd never known Morgana to be interested in anyone romantically, suggested.

“I wager not.”

“They're all right,” Gwen commented, rocking on her feet. Standing still for long stretches of time wasn't as easy as it looked, not when one was still sleepy. “Personable.”

“Why Gwen,” said Morgana. “Do you like any of them?”

Gwen pursed her lips. “Not at all,” she denied. And even though Morgana doubted her, she was telling the truth. She had no interest in the earl's friends.

 

****

 

When Arthur went down for breakfast on the third day after his return home, he was pleased to find Morgana seated at the table.

It wasn’t as if that was a usual occurrence. Most mornings she had breakfast in her room with her personal maid, Guinevere. She didn’t act this way out of a feeling of self importance, if anything Morgana was a liberal, but she never did manage to wake up in time and, Arthur speculated, if she kept to her rooms, she was sure to be able to gossip with Gwen in a way she wouldn’t be allowed to when surrounded by the servants.

“Good Morning, Morgana,” he said, taking a seat, unfolding his serviette and placing it in his lap, while Cedric silently poured some tea in his cup, Gaius supervising him.

Morgana lifted her teacup and before sipping she said, “Good morning to you too, I hear your friends were so worn out by yesterday’s hunting spree that we won’t see them till after noon.”

Arthur laughed as he added sugar to his tea. He had always had a sweet tooth and couldn’t help it. “That’s what Leon promised yesterday, but I do have hopes of seeing at least Percival and Geraint before that.” He frowned into his breakfast plate. “But how do you know?” he asked. “Leon complained of his tiredness over his glass of claret, when you weren’t present.”

“That’s a terrible tradition,” Morgana obfuscated.

“Morgana,” Arthur said.

“It is,” she insisted, pushing away her cup. “Why should women be forced to leave the dining room so that the men can chat alone?”

Arthur didn’t let himself be side-tracked. “Did you have a private conversation with one of my guests then? After I retired?”

Morgana scoffed. “I’m a grown-up woman, Arthur. I can entertain men.”

“I’m sure you can scare them away,” Arthur said, biting on a buttered roll.

Morgana had no scathing rejoinder to offer. She bit on a small piece of toasted bread, ever so daintily. She took another sip and dabbed at her mouth before saying, “I’m not the only one who sets tongues wagging.”

“Morgana, your behaviour,” he began, only to be interrupted.

“Percival said Morris, the second footman, had to tag along when you went out hunting yesterday. Shouldn’t your valet have been there?”

Arthur recognised Morgana’s tactic. According to her offence was the best form of defence. Nevertheless, his skin prickled when she attacked him by using her knowledge of his weaknesses. “Lancelot was.”

“But your valet should have attended.”

Arthur thumped his hand on the table. “You know very well why he wasn’t there.”

“Yes,” Morgana said. “He’s lame; you wanted to spare him a day spent traipsing after you while you shot partridges.”

“And isn’t that reason enough?”

Morgana shook her head. “I understand, but—”

“No,” Arthur said, no longer hungry, no longer wanting to have this conversation. “You don’t. He saved my life.”

“I know that,” she said. “But the servants are already talking. They’re asking themselves why you hired a valet who can’t perform his duties. And if they can’t find a reason, they’ll invent one. Now if you were Leon, there would be nothing to worry about, but with your past...”

“So I should heed gossip and let it rule my life while you don’t.”

“It’s entirely different,” Morgana said, pulling her hair back. “The Women’s Social is not entirely frowned upon. There are ladies who approve of—”

“Demonstrations?” Arthur asked rhetorically. “Stone-throwing? Hunger strikes? Does polite society approve of that?”

“Does polite society approve of—”

The door opened and Morris showed Percival in. “Good Morning, Pendragon.” Percy bowed. “Lady Morgana.”

The conversation could now clearly go nowhere.

Morgana had regained her composure, having learnt to dissimulate well. Entertaining the ideas she did and growing up under father’s roof taught you how to do that.

Arthur wasn’t so good at presenting a false front, so he covered that up by inviting Percy to sit down and talking sports as the man was served his breakfast.

They discussed horseracing, their plans for the hunt, the London boxing arena, but they didn’t tackle any personal subject. Arthur couldn’t at this point, memories of his past, sprawling on the grass a hand in his, furtive touches with under a summer sun, surfacing again.

Feeling out of sorts, he excused himself while Percy was attacking his second sausage, saying he had some important legal documents to read in the library.

Percy, who wasn’t a bad person after all, rose and said, “Sure, looking after such a large estate so soon after your father’s passing mustn’t be easy.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Arthur said. “Morgana,” he acknowledged her by tilting his head to the side. He left the room.

Although he didn’t intend to read any document, he was indeed headed for the library, the only place in the old mansion where he wouldn’t be disturbed. Mr Barnes would see to it. He’d always been the perfect butler, ever since Arthur could remember, though Arthur suspected Gaius of having preferred serving under his father. Even though that was the case, Gaius would protect the sanctity of his privacy, as a lioness would defend her cubs.

He stopped in his tracks when he spied two servants sitting on the steps of the grand staircase. Arthur was on the landing just above them, and he could only see their backs and hear their voices. But he recognised at least one as that of his new valet. He was talking to one of the housemaids; the other voice was distinctly feminine.

“So how are you finding the job?” the maid asked.

Merlin hummed. “I don’t know, Freya,” he said. Apparently, his valet had already got chummy with the girls. Strange, he’d seemed so painfully naive Arthur would have thought him shy.

Arthur’s considerations took a backseat when he heard his name mentioned.

“His Lordship is a right prat,” Merlin said in a half-amused tone of voice. A soft, diverted tone you’d use when sharing confidences. “Yesterday he had me darning five pairs of shirts. I can’t darn.”

“I could teach you,” said the girl whose name was Freya. Arthur couldn’t remember all the staff’s names. And if it hadn’t been for Merlin, he’d have continued to dub her as the ‘housemaid’ in his head.

“Thanks,” Merlin said, sounding cheerful. “I’ll need it. You know... I really don’t know how to do half the things I’m asked to do on a daily basis.”

The Freya girl sounded worried when she said, “Don’t say that to anyone but me. The other servants can get jealous. They already think your job’s easier than ours.”

Merlin chuckled at that.

“And think you don’t deserve it,” Freya stressed. “If you give them reason to think it’s true, it won’t be nice, believe me. I was born a servant and I know these things.”

Merlin said thoughtfully, “I don’t think his Lordship would give me the sack over that. He’s... not a bad man once you start ignoring the prat side. He could have...”

Arthur felt his throat constrict. He owed this man everything. If he hadn’t been so lowly born, Arthur could have acknowledged him differently, called him friend perhaps. God knew Arthur had many friends who’d done far less for him, hangers-on whose only merit was being the son of nobleman such and such.

Merlin was different and yet Arthur had offered him a miserly servant position and a meagre salary in return for a service that could never be repaid.

Merlin was a special man, and Arthur didn’t know what to do with someone like him, someone who’d think him a prat and call him on it but was also honourable enough to do the right thing by a stranger.

People either overpraised Arthur and fawned over him for what he could give or thought him a lucky bastard whose only claim to honour rested on his title.

And this young man believed Arthur was worthy. But he wasn’t, was he? For one Arthur hadn’t really done what he should have and for another he was eavesdropping.

Merlin was still confiding in the other servant.

Since he couldn't proceed without alerting the pair as to his presence, Arthur retraced his steps and retreated to his room to think.

At first he tried reading a book but gave up on the activity when he found he was skimming, his attention on something else.

Hoping the view would distract him, he sat in the alcove and looked out the window. As if to mock him, fate presented him with another glimpse of Merlin. He must have parted company with Freya and was now confabulating with Gaius on the lawn, gesticulating freely.

He’d shed his uniform jacket and was standing in shirtsleeves despite the blustery wind. The same wind that was making his shirt cling to his chest and billow around him, showing his body to the best advantage. He was tall and well made, wide of shoulders and lean of hips.

His hair was being ruffled by the gale and he looked vital, vibrant, alive. Arthur thought him stunning right then.

And that was an invitation for trouble, wasn’t it?

Maybe Morgana had been prophetic.

But Arthur would never sack Merlin for his own shortcomings, for his own fear of his past. Not when Merlin believed in him.

Arthur knew how to be honourable.

****

Gwen scanned the room. She’d done the bed, put the gown Morgana had worn yesterday back in the trunk where it belonged and had dusted the surface of every piece of furniture that was in need of some good wiping down.

The dress Morgana was going to wear tonight was mended so that no signs of darning were visible and she now had the rest of the morning free to herself.

She knew for a fact that Morgana would go riding after breakfast and Gwen wasn’t needed for that.

She smiled even though she probably shouldn’t have. She loved Morgana, had almost grown up by her side, having been her maid ever since she was fifteen, but today she felt this free time was hers and no one else’s.

If Morgana wanted to blow off steam or wished to shut herself up in a room where she could let all her frustrations out, she could. She had plenty of opportunity to do so. A word, even less than that, and she could have all the privacy she wished for.

But Gwen had to present a bright, cheery front all day long and, as a servant, she wasn’t allowed to let go, ever. And while Morgana would never say anything if she did, the other servants would think she was acting above her station.

Besides, Morgana herself would never understand. Not truly.

So Gwen was happy to have the morning to herself.

The other day she’d been down to the village and had bought a tin of assorted tea-time biscuits. There were far too many for her consumption, but she’d thought she’d make a present of them.

She was rehearsing just the right words as she pushed the door to her room open. Once she was in, she made a beeline for her bed, knelt and got the tin of biscuits from under it. She dusted off the lid with her apron and put it on the bed.

But for Grunhilda, she wouldn’t have to act so sneakily, but she had better keep this secret or Grunhilda would confiscate her purchase or tell her it was wrong to keep it.

Unladylike, she’d say.

Grunhilda seemed to be a gentle woman when she was dealing with the nobility, but Gwen knew her to be two-faced. She’d denounce her without any scruple for something that Gwen couldn’t consider wrong.

So thinking, Gwen walked to her table and fished a card and a pen out of her desk drawer. She sat down and penned a brief note, going for something sincere and heartfelt while not too pushy. She didn’t wish to sound pushy.

Note written, she retrieved her tin. If she’d had more notice, she’d have done something to decorate the box, but as it was Morgana had decided on going riding just the evening before and Gwen had no ribbon to spare, not unless she made a dash for the haberdasher’s. And she certainly couldn’t. Not while on duty.

She was about to leave her room, when she stopped. She marched to her nightstand and opened its single drawer from which she extracted a tiny hand mirror.

Some of her locks had escaped from her bun and were in a state of slight disarray. She fixed her hair, adjusting the pins that kept her bun in place, letting only some few loose curls escape in a way that wouldn’t look untidy, but natural.

She put the mirror back, picked up a shawl from a peg, since she’d have to cross the grounds and the wind had picked up, and left the room, clutching the tin to her chest.

On the lawn she met Mr Barnes and the new valet, Merlin.

“Good morning, Guinevere,” Mr Barnes said.

Guinevere inclined her head and smiled. Gaius returned her greeting with a tilt of the head and a benevolent-looking eyebrow raise.

The new valet, smiled, cheeks dimpling, and said, “Hello, Gwen.”

“Why hello,” Merlin,” she said in return. She liked Merlin. He was bright despite his injury, which was somewhat mysterious in that nobody knew how he’d incurred it. And besides he gave himself no airs as Cedric or the visiting valets did all the time. “How are you adapting to the manor?”

“It’s taking some getting used to,” Merlin said. “Everything’s different. But not bad different. Not when I get to work with people like you.” Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “What are you holding onto?” he asked.

Gwen’s grip tightened around the tin. “Nothing.”

Merlin grinned endearingly.

“It’s nothing,” she said in as serious a tone as she could muster. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Before either Merlin or Mr Barnes could wedge in another word, Gwen had taken off at a run, crossing the grounds till she was out of view.

Only then did she slow down, starting to walk at a more sedate pace. Her heart was in her throat, and she was shivering a little because it was cold.

She walked past the pond bridge and down a side footpath. It took her almost twenty minutes but soon she spied the gamekeeper’s cottage.

Smoke wasn’t trailing from the chimney, which portended well.

She had meant to leave the tin on the first step, note attached, and retreat quickly. If the fireplace wasn’t being used, then all was as it should be and Lancelot had accompanied Arthur on his morning shoot, probably acting as loader.

She was bending over, adjusting the note in a way that wouldn’t allow it to flutter away in the wind, when the door opened and Lancelot popped up like a Jack-in-the-box.

She took a step back, bringing her hand to her chest, covering her heart. He’d surprised her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, noticing he’d startled her. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright. I heard a noise and decided I’d see what it was.”

“Just me,” she said, dying of embarrassment. She looked down, eyes on her gift. “Uhm, I bought a tin of biscuits and it’s more than I can eat or share. So I thought... the other day you were so kind as to escort me back up to the manor with your umbrella and if it wasn’t for you I’d have got drenched...”

Lancelot smiled sweetly and interrupted her. “But my lady was in need of rescue and I felt honoured to be in the position to offer such a service.

Gwen frowned. “I’m no lady, not like Morgana.” Then, fearing she’d sounded too severe, she added, “I simply thought I’d give you something to say ‘thank you’.”

Lancelot now had her eyes fully on her. It was strange how that made her lose track of her thoughts and what she’d meant to say. She didn’t wish to come across as someone who was pursuing him.

She didn’t wish him to use words of courtship he couldn’t possibly mean just because he was being kind and the type of man who’d do that. Because he was chivalrous to women. “I thought you wouldn’t be home.”

Lancelot’s shoulders drooped somewhat. “So you didn’t intend to see me?”

She smoothed her apron. “It was a surprise. I thought you’d be out with Arthur.”

If anything Lancelot looked even more dejected. “Oh,” he said, wearing a sombre expression.

“Not that seeing you is unpleasant.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked.

“No,” she said, because she couldn’t bear to see him sad. “No.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind having tea with me?” he asked, pushing the door to the cottage wider open.

Gwen knew it was improper as soon as the offer was made. But no one was around to spy on her and Lancelot looked so hopeful, she decided then and there that she’d take the risk and brave gossip.

“I’d be happy to,” she said, stepping inside.

****

Merlin was handing the earl the shirt he meant to wear that day. He held it up so Arthur could step into it. And when he did, he spotted a little tear by the armpit. “This will not do,” he said.

Merlin took a step back, confused. “Why?” he asked, brow creasing.

Arthur turned around, not even bothering to button up the shirt, even though his near nakedness embarrassed him. But there was no reason as to why it should, so he decided he’d behave as though it couldn’t affect him. “There’s a tear in this shirt,” he said, more angrily than he’d intended.

“I didn’t notice.”

“I can see that,” he said, tossing the shirt away. It fell on the floor between them. “That’s it,” he added, “we’re going shopping.”

“Shopping?” Merlin asked. “We are?”

Arthur put his hands on his hips. “Of course, we are. And I’m teaching you how to shop for me. My valet should know how to do that. And,” he added pointedly, “he should know when to throw items of clothing away.”

Arthur feared that Merlin would take badly to the reproof. But instead, he just gave Arthur a lopsided smile.

Arthur walked to the table and rang the bell that would summon the footman.

Merlin eyed him warily, but Arthur just busied himself with picking another shirt. When the footman appeared he said, “Ah, Morris, please tell Alvarr to bring up the car in thirty minutes.”

Morris said, “Very well, sir.” And yet he didn’t leave, which meant he had something more to say and was waiting for Arthur’s permission to do so.

“Yes,” said Arthur impatiently. He hadn’t asked for anything outlandish, for God’s sake. “You may speak.”

“Alvarr didn’t know the car would be needed,” Morris pointed out. “It’ll probably take longer than half an hour.”

Arthur wanted to shout, but now that he was the new earl, he had more responsibilities and temper tantrums would get him nowhere. The staff wouldn’t respect him more if he was louder. Father had never been. His voice had always been calm and modulated to suit the occasion, if perpetually cutting. He’d never needed to shout to be treated as he should be.

However, Arthur’s tone was brisk and perhaps petulant when he said, “Let’s see if we can perform this feat before midday, shall we?”

“I’ll pass the order on, my lord,” said Morris, bowing his way out of the room.

When Arthur turned around, he noticed Merlin was leaning against the side table, arms folded over his chest in a pose that had nothing of the servant about it. Considering that Merlin was a servant, Arthur should probably have chided him for his attitude, but he didn’t say anything.

“You can change out of your uniform,” was what he said instead.

Merlin cocked his head to the side. “Why am I changing out of my uniform?”

“Because,” Arthur answered, “you’re coming along.”

Merlin looked down.

“Merlin?”

After some hesitation, Merlin met his eyes. “Yes, of course. You told me. I’ll do as you say.”

Merlin left the room and Arthur kept wondering what had suddenly changed till he had no time to.

After breakfast the motorcar was driven up the lawn, Merlin already standing there, wearing brown trousers, a white shirt whose material was worn in places and braces. His faithful cane was by his side.

“What?” Merlin asked when he caught Arthur staring at him from head to foot. “Something wrong?”

“You’re wearing no jacket.”

“I know.” Merlin smiled at him and then inclined his head towards the car.

Alvarr, the chauffeur, had opened the door of the Renault and was waiting for Arthur to step inside.

Arthur didn’t. He motioned for Merlin to do so. The reason for this was that he didn’t want Merlin to be standing longer than was necessary.

Merlin stood frozen on the spot for a few moments, eyeing the car as if it was a malevolent object – and naturally he would – while Alvarr stood gaping at Arthur. Did they all think him a monster stuck on precedence?

When finally Merlin moved, Arthur took his cane from him. He moved to help him deal with the step but Merlin snapped a forceful, “Don’t,” and negotiated it by himself without any fuss.

Arthur stepped in after him, watching as Alvarr rounded the car, cranked its handle till the engine was roaring, and climbed in the leather-upholstered driver seat.

Merlin was looking daggers at Arthur while Alvarr was studying him from the rear-view mirror.

“Drive on,” Arthur ordered.

They did spend their time in the village shopping. Arthur stopped at the tailor’s first.

The shop’s owner was an old man called Mr Brooks.

Mr Brooks’ shop had always been a long-standing village institution, and Arthur was an occasional if esteemed patron of the establishment. Arthur was the main one even though it couldn’t presume to offer the same kind of refined articles a London tailor could; it was part and parcel of being the village’s patron.

At Mr Brooks’ Arthur selected five ready-made shirts, a pair of trousers he could wear while at home and other odds and ends he’d find useful.

Arthur was barely out of the fitting rooms when Merlin popped in.

“I’m your valet, after all,” he said. “I’ll be the one to dress you.”

Arthur would have thought he had a point, had he not made Arthur feel the same tug of something akin to want he’d first experienced a few days ago, looking at Merlin from his window.

But Merlin never noticed; he was babbling on, “I thought people like you had their clothes delivered directly at home, and then only bespoke clothes.”

“In London,” Arthur acknowledged, fussing with the buttons of the shirt he was trying on. Merlin stepped closer and did them up for him, touching him deliberately as he did every morning.

Arthur’s breath hitched. “I do that when I’m in London,” he repeated, low and a little broken.

“But here you play the benevolent master?” Merlin asked, still hovering close. Arthur could smell the cheap Marseille soap Merlin must have used to wash and that made him long more than any exotic perfume he’d ever smelt before.

Flustered, Arthur ran a hand down his own chest to flatten his shirt and said, “No, I’m not play-acting at being a kind benefactor. I’m really not that vain.”

“Looking at your wardrobe I would’ve thought you were,” Merlin said in a tone that was challenging though not inimical. It sounded as though Merlin was poking fun at him but in good humour like his old school chums had used to do and nobody dared to anymore. And he was doing this as if the gap in their status didn’t exist, which might have been consistent with Merlin’s political beliefs, which Arthur was getting an inkling of, but was a completely new notion to Arthur if considered separately. New and like a breath of fresh air.

“It’s expected of me,” Arthur said, almost justifying himself. “I’m the Earl of Albion.”

“I should have known.” And if that was an acknowledgment of fact or Merlin’s attempt at censure, Arthur didn’t know.

“I make do with one coat and a few shirts,” Merlin continued. “Most men can.”

Before Arthur had realised how it would have sounded, he’d blurted out, “Do you need anything?” A jacket perhaps?”

This time Merlin did step away from him, raising a hand as a shield, his cane hooked around his wrist. “That wasn’t my subtle way of asking for things. I don’t need charity. I have a salary.”

“Which is a pittance.”

Merlin shook his head. “It’s better than that of most other servants,” Merlin said. “It’s more than I’ve ever earned.”

“And less than you should, in all fairness, have.”

Merlin took another stumbling step backwards. “You did what you could. You don’t owe me more than that.”

“What I could?” Arthur returned mockingly. “You don’t believe that!”

Merlin’s expression was so sincere as to be disarming, when he said, “But I do.” He didn’t say anything more; he left Arthur to change back into his clothes.

As Arthur shed the new shirt, he overheard Merlin exchange words with the tailor.

“Have you been working for his Lordship long?” Mr Brooks asked. “I don’t think I remember seeing your face before.”

“That’s because I’m new,” Merlin said.

“So you don’t know anyone round here, do you?”

Merlin’s answer was just this side of shy. “Not really, no.”

“There’s going to be a village fair in a few days,” the tailor said, just as Arthur remerged from the fitting room, “you should definitely go, plenty of nice young people for you to mingle with.”

Arthur stopped in his progress towards the till when Merlin said, “That’s just not...”

“My daughters always go,” Mr Brooks encouraged him. “As do many pretty girls.”

Arthur held his breath.

“It’s not right for me,” Merlin said categorically. “Not anymore.”

This was when Arthur eventually decided he could no longer listen in. He made it to the counter Merlin was leaning against and observed how Merlin was running his hand up and down his right trouser leg. And Arthur knew just then that he wasn’t smoothing out the fabric; he was instinctively touching his bum limb.

“Here,” Arthur said. “They all fit nicely but for the blue one. I’ll take them all. If you could make a parcel for easier carrying.”

As Mr Brooks made himself busy with string and paper, Merlin shot him a grateful look.

A look that prompted Arthur to say, “I’m very hungry. We shall have lunch at the pub. My treat.”

Merlin rolled his eyes at Arthur’s unsubtle ways and when Mr Brooks announced the parcel was ready, Merlin took it and Arthur let him, suppressing the instinct to take over.

Merlin negotiated the burden quite easily as he shuffled out of the shop with the parcel under his arm, wishing Mr Brooks a good-day as he did so.

Mr Brooks looked at Arthur and lifted his imaginary hat as a form of deferential salute. Arthur nodded and followed Merlin outside.

A little while later he was herding Merlin into the local pub, another village long-standing institution.

Over a pint of beer and a slice of shepherd’s pie Arthur asked Merlin some questions; those that he felt could be asked. “So what did you do... before?” He took a rather large gulp of beer.

“Before is such a big word.”

“Before you crashed into my life,” Arthur said, feeling a little irritated at Merlin’s reticence. “Thus making its continuation possible.”

Merlin smiled this time, though this was a wan, washed out smile. “This and that. I began by selling theatre tickets in a booth. Then I worked as an errand boy at a chemist’s for a while. Basically I home-delivered products, running around on my bicycle. That was my occupation when I met you. I couldn’t, afterwards.”

“Merlin, I—” Arthur said, his throat drying. “What I—”

“Stop that, please,” Merlin pleaded, pushing his food away though he looked as though he needed the nourishment. “You’re not responsible. If anything I was. Yes, I’m angry. But not at you. At myself, fate.”

His words were getting heated and a few people had taken notice, which alerted Merlin as to what he was doing. “I’ll deal. I’m learning to deal.” He drained Arthur’s beer and said, “If you had died because I hadn’t done anything, I couldn’t really have dealt at all.”

Arthur blinked. “You didn’t know me,” he said, stunned.

Merlin put his elbow on the wooden table, which Arthur would have condemned as uncouth behaviour, if he’d been thinking about propriety, although he certainly wasn’t. “If our positions had been reversed, would you have stood by and let it happen?”

Arthur stopped to consider. Merlin deserved an honest answer. And it wasn’t the kind of thing you could be sure about, not unless you were truly put to the test. Arthur took a deep breath and said, “No, I wouldn’t.”

“So you know where I stand,” Merlin said.

“I think I do.”

***

Cedric was absent-mindedly sweeping the lawn; it wasn’t one of the tasks usually allotted to him, but one of the girls had a severe cold and Mrs Corr had handed him a broom and said, “Cedric.” Just that. Cedric had gulped and grudgingly started on the lawn-sweeping.

It was five in the afternoon when he spotted his Lordship’s green Renault driving up and coming to a halt a few paces away from him.

Cedric stopped mid-sweep, broom inclined at an angle, when he saw Emrys emerge from the car right after the earl.

Emrys was now leaning against the passenger door, as he attempted to rescue a parcel large enough to be a handful.

His Lordship stepped behind Emrys and said, “I can take it from here.”

Cedric couldn’t see Emrys’ expression but he could hear his words. “Far be it from me to want to do any extra chores, but I can manage this one pretty well on my own, thank you.”

“Merlin,” his Lordship said. And that as well as the closeness between the two fired Cedric’s suspicious mind.

A master rarely called a valet by his first name. His Lordship should have claimed his valet’s attention by tersely saying, “Mr Emrys’, as he had done when old Geoffrey had had the job.

Cedric’s eyes narrowed, his fingers closing around the broom’s handle.

Ah, so it probably was that way. Emrys was Merlin now. And who was to say that he hadn’t always been? Who was to say that Merlin, who was useless, hadn’t got the job by way of some unlawful and sinful action? Cedric couldn’t be positive, but it wouldn’t have been the first time something like that happened in such a household.

As he lowered his head and pretended to sweep some dead leaves away, Cedric made plans. He thought of reporting them to the police, but he had absolutely no proof of any criminal intercourse.

Besides, if the Earl of Albion went to prison, they would all lose their jobs, and finding another position would be very difficult indeed if the scandal attached itself to the household.

Who’d want a valet or footman who had been compromised by having worked in such a milieu?

No, it was Emrys Cedric would have to act against. Merlin, who was just saying, “Nah, I’ve decided; you may Merlin me as much as you wish, my lord, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to take this upstairs.”

Merlin juggled the parcel and his cane and seemed for once to be faring well, though he was decidedly talking above his station.

His Lordship followed behind Merlin, smiling as Cedric had never seen him smiling, eyes lit with a strange kind of joy, expression soft.

The brief glimpse Cedric caught of him as he repaired into the house was astounding in its way. The Earl of Albion looked different, no longer like the detached, blasé and cool aristocrat he usually appeared to be.

“Merlin, I’ll chase you and get that off you!”

“You’d exploit my weakness, my lord?” Cedric heard Merlin shout from the hallway, merry and familiar.

Cedric was surprised by Grunhilda’s coughing behind him. “If Mr Barnes or Mrs Corr catch you idling you’ll get a good scolding,” she said.

Cedric started sweeping his broom from his right to his left

“He’s clearly such a favourite,” she said, without needing to clarify who she was referring to.

“I don’t see that,” Cedric grumbled, moving a few paces away.

“Have you ever seen his Lordship laughing with a servant before?”

“He did moon over Guinevere when he was younger.”

Grunhilda scoffed. “That was calf-love. But ever since the late earl’s death, his Lordship has been ever so proper. So high and mighty, as if we common people were just props. He only ever speaks to you to order you about.”

Cedric made a low noise of agreement since that statement couldn’t be denied.

“And now his new servant has it all,” she insinuated. “No precedence, no experience whatsoever. The other day I heard him ask the laundress how you took away a coffee stain from an evening jacket! And he’s such a peasant. Most of the lads and girls are, but a personal valet should be more refined.”

“That’s true,” Cedric said, making a mental list of Emrys’ faults, beginning with his annoying smile.

“If I were you, I’d do something about it.”

Cedric didn’t say he’d already considered that option. He grunted something.

But when Grunhilda wouldn’t commit anymore, he said, “It’s not as if there’s much we can do. Mr Barnes likes him. His Lordship does too.” He made a sound resembling a disgusted ‘guh'. “Nobody’d listen if we pointed out our concerns.”

Grunhilda pursed her lips and looked up at him. “Then make them listen,” she said and turned back into the house, wobbling as she advanced.

“Make them listen,” Cedric mocked, parodying her tone of voice. But how?

****

Merlin carried another towel into the room and closed the door softly behind him so that no cold gust of air could penetrate the bathroom.

The stove was going but his Lordship was naked in the enamel tub; he’d catch a chill if Merlin didn’t pay attention. And although a few sneezes wouldn’t kill him, Merlin felt he wanted his Lordship to have the best of everything, even though his paternalistic attitude at times fazed Merlin more than he could say.

Strangely Merlin wanted to take care of this man even though Pendragon sometimes, quite often actually, irritated him. It was as though the glimpses of goodness he saw in him made up for the moments of swanky arrogance Merlin had to put up with.

Berating himself for dawdling, Merlin coasted the tub and took a step towards the man reclining inside it.

He could see all of him, even though the water was soapy. He cleared his throat and put the towel on the tub’s edge.

The earl, damp hair slicked back and sticking to his scalp, scooped up some water and rinsed his face and hair, swiping it from his eyes when he was done. Then he sat up and turned his head, squinting because he’d got water in his eyes. “Did I get all the soap?” he asked.

“No,” Merlin said. “There’s still a fair bit of lather here and there.”

“Oh,” his Lordship said, and he sounded so nice for a moment that Merlin chucked his cane, and slowly knelt down, forcing his knee to obey him.

It did hurt when he bent it, muscle and ligaments complaining, but it soon settled to being just uncomfortable and what counted was that Merlin was in the position he wanted to be in, that he’d mastered his body, making it answer his mind’s needs.

“Let me,” he said, pushing the earl back so he was reclining against the rim of the tub once more. He was behaving confidently though he wasn’t exactly meeting his employer’s eyes.

“No,” Arthur said, alarmed at Merlin’s gesture. “Don’t do this over such a stupid—”

Merlin flashed him a genial smile; he was dissembling a little, acting as though he experienced no discomfort, he knew, but he wanted to do this.

“Will you be quiet, my lord, please,” he said making a hollow of his hands to let some of the warm bath-water pool in his palms.

He poured it over the earl’s head to rinse the lathered strands of hair. The muscles in the earl’s back contracted as Merlin did so.

To get rid of the remaining soap suds, Merlin performed this action twice more, showering water over the nape of the earl’s neck.

Water cascaded down it, and Merlin started working his fingers through the wet hair to comb it.

The earl visibly relaxed under Merlin’s attentions, his perfect and unmarred body uncoiling. He took a shaky breath, one Merlin could hear him exhale, and his hands, which were grasping the bath tub’s edges, took to trembling a little.

Merlin acted as though he hadn’t seen that and proceeded to wash his shoulders with a washing cloth; the earl’s head sank back, so he was very nearly leaning against Merlin’s chest.

Merlin shifted on his knees, gritting his teeth. The earl turned, sat up anew and grabbed Merlin by the neck, forcing Merlin to meet his gaze.

And Merlin did, drowning in gentle blue, even though he knew he was playing with some kind of boundary.

Their gazes held; the earl’s fingers digging in deep. There was a moment when Merlin was sure the earl, Arthur — he was Arthur — was staring at him as though Merlin was some kind of surprise.

And then he leant in, simultaneously pulling Merlin closer.

Arthur was breathing against Merlin’s mouth, his lips parted, his eyes half-shut. They were so close Merlin could have bridged the gap, done something. But he was frozen.

Their lips almost brushed and Merlin’s blood was singing in his ears.

But then Arthur pushed him back a little and said, “This isn’t...” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I shouldn’t.”

Merlin closed his eyes and said, “No, of course not.”

****

Freya had a free afternoon once a month.

She usually spent it in the village so as to breathe a breath of fresh air. She was always grateful for a chance to take a walk.

She missed her home, the countryside around it, and the opportunity it afforded for taking in the magnificent scenery while going for a stroll.

Being in service meant that she was often obliged to stay indoors, like a bird in a golden cage that would never be hers. But today she visited the shops, bought herself a pair of cheap gloves and sat on a bench in the village main square, watching people flit about, go to work, chat, gossip, quarrel and kiss.

A couple, a young lady and gentleman, were, as a matter of fact, kissing in front of the greengrocer’s.

Freya lowered her eyes.

The fact they were so open and carefree surprised her. She probably wouldn’t dare, not unless she truly meant it, but the sight of the pair happily displaying their reciprocal affection fascinated her.

People could have that, if they allowed themselves to.

An old lady came and sat next to her. She chuckled gently and said, “Oh I see, love. You have romantic problems.”

Freya made a sign 'no' with her head.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” the woman said. “What with you being so pretty and graceful.”

“Thank you,” she said, colouring a little. “I don’t have a sweet-heart,” she explained. “If you were wondering. And no-one’s broken my heart.” She smiled to show she didn’t wish to put her interlocutor off.

“Oh, but there’s someone.”

“He’s kind,” Freya said. There was some freedom in admitting this to a stranger. She knew the other servants had labeled her as the shy, reserved one who didn’t talk much and was thus best left alone, perhaps as a kind of punishment for not being bubbly enough, but this time she felt she wanted to share her little secret.

“I’m not...” She tried to explain that she wasn’t smitten, that she hadn’t fallen head over heels like those romantic heroines from the books the other girls, those who could, sometimes read. “He’s just a good person. The only one I can talk to.” The only one who really listened. “He’s different and he’s special. He’s courteous and kind and always has a smile.”

“It seems to me,” the old lady said, “that maybe you should spend more time with him.”

Freya kicked her heel against the bench’s leg. “I already do spend as much of my free time with him as possible.”

The old woman tutted, although gently. “To see if he’s the one who tugs at your heartstrings, dear. Get him to go out with you.”

As though it explained everything, Freya said, “I’m in service.”

“I understand. My sister used to be in service before she married. I know servants have little free time. But there’s going to be a fair in a couple of days. You could invite him? Nowadays girls can.”

“If the housekeeper says 'yes',” Freya answered. “I think he’d have a good time. Sometimes I know he feels down.”

Freya sprang to her feet, decision taken. “Thank you,” she said to the old lady and curtailed her outing off in the hopes to be allowed out on the following Friday.

It took her some time to get back to the manor but less than it usually did. She’d hastened all the way. As she walked into the servants’ quarters, she undid her bonnet’s laces.

“Afternoon, Freya,” the second footman said.

“Good afternoon,” she replied. “Do you know whether Mrs Corr is about?”

“No,” he answered. “I haven’t seen her.”

Her hopes were dashed. She was sure that if she promised to work for the rest of the afternoon, she’d have her day off later on in the week.

Mrs Corr ran the household very well. She knew how to be stern, but she wasn’t too hard on them.

If Freya had to report to Grunhilda instead, she was sure she would be told off. She thanked the footman for his help and rushed upstairs, trying to find Mrs Corr. To do so more quickly, she used the main staircase.

And ran into the woman she’d been avoiding. “Wasn’t this your afternoon off?” Grunhilda asked, noticing that Freya was wearing her Sunday clothes and still had her bonnet in her hand.

“Yes,” Freya answered. “I thought I’d work today.”

Grunhilda’s brow grew deep furrows. “Why would you do that?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

Freya suspected Lord Godwyn had done well in recommending Grunhilda’s services to the late earl. Freya didn’t wish to be unkind, but had she been a noblewoman, she would have rather shown Grunhilda the door, than have her working for her. And what better way to do so than to recommend her to another rich employer?

Pity that Grunhilda now terrorised the staff at the Pendragon manor, while she attempted to dote on the Lady Morgana as she had on Lord Godwin’s daughter.

“I simply meant...”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking I’d go to the fair on Friday, and if I worked today I could—”

She was interrupted by Grunhilda, who laughed and said, “Certainly not. You already enjoyed some hours of liberty today. You wouldn’t be able to make up for them, even if you worked the rest of today.”

Freya clenched her hands into fists. She knew it wasn’t her place to object, but she wanted to. Merlin would and he’d shown her that perhaps she could too. “But,” she began.

“No,” Grunhilda, repeated, inflexible. “You won’t go to the fair on Friday. Too many members of staff are already going. Even Mrs Corr is. I can’t have you off too!”

Those words had barely left Grunhilda’s lips when Freya realised that his Lordship himself had heard them. He was standing on top of the staircase; Merlin, who had taken to following him around, was standing a step in front of him.

Merlin’s eyes widened in recognition when he saw her; he was smiling at her and at the same time he was miming hanging someone by the noose. Evidently Grunhilda.

She suppressed a chuckle and tried to stay serious, mouthing a severe ‘no’ at Merlin. He’d better not be caught.

She deserves it, Merlin mouthed.

His Lordship flicked a glance at Merlin, studied her too, which caused Freya to dip her head and then asked, “What is this?”

“Waters wants a day off on Friday and I said 'no'.”

Freya looked at Merlin to make him see that she wished for a day off in order to have a few hours to spend with him. She didn’t want Merlin to think her lazy.

Although Merlin didn’t seem to understand what she wanted to get across, his Lordship did, for his expression changed, and he nodded gently at her, in a way that had never been directed at her.

“And I say yes,” he said. “There’s a fair on Friday, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” said Freya, almost breathless.

“Well, go then,” his Lordship said, “and take my valet with you.”

Merlin effected a veritable doubletake, gaping like a stranded fish at his Lordship. Ordinarily she would have blushed in such a situation, but instead she nodded and curtsied to express her thanks.

Grunhilda merely looked stymied, but even wanting to be forgiving and charitable, Freya couldn’t feel sorry for her.

The earl was brushing past her when she heard him say, “Take good care of him.”

****

“Gwen?” Morgana called, looking in the ante-room to check for her maid’s presence. The room was empty. Morgana relaxed. She toed off her shoes and marched into her bedroom proper.

She made a beeline for the escritoire, an old eighteenth century piece that had secret drawers and hidden nooks, which her father had presented her with on her sixteenth birthday.

In a way it was fitting, she thought. It was fitting that she should hide her secrets within it, those secrets that would have made that proud, prejudiced man roll in his grave.

She touched a spring and a tiny drawer clicked open. She drew the tiny button handle towards her and picked up the folded piece of paper she’d left lying inside it.

She sat down and opened it, reading the words once again.

Morgana,

I have found new pamphlets for you to read. The rally is on Thursday next. There won’t be much discussion of the topic that lies close to your heart, but interesting points are going to be raised.

I’m sure you’ll find a suitable lie that will allow you to attend.

I was also hoping you’d find another suitable lie to meet me.

I find I’m not needed in my professional capacity. I’m idling away the hours when they could be spent in a far more entertaining way.

Come to me after lunch. Your maid won’t be in. I suggested to that idiot of a gamekeeper that the girl has an interest in him and shouldn’t be thwarted. He spoke at length about honour, about your brother trusting him to act decently and of his deepest respect for the girl. I was despairing of making him see the point of practicality, but then I attempted to follow a line of reasoning he could understand and told him that crushing the girl’s love would be as deplorable as keeping her at a distance while making her suffer.

He seemed convinced.

 

If sweet Gwen is not following you around tomorrow morning, it will mean that Lancelot listened to my piece of advice. If that should be the case, come.

Steal away from them.

You’ll know where to find me.

Waiting for you, passionately yours,

A.

Morgana folded the message and put it back where it had been secreted. She was sure Gwen was with Lancelot, having a picnic, or perhaps they were sitting somewhere holding hands.

Gwen thought Morgana didn’t know how devoted she was to the handsome Lancelot, but Morgana was aware, and knew Gwen would take her time. She’d teased her on purpose the other day to ascertain whether Gwen would own up to her feelings for the dashing gamekeeper.

Resolute, Morgana left her rooms. The key to plans such as this was acting as though she was doing nothing wrong, owning the place — there certainly was some measure of irony in that too — behaving as the uncontested lady of the manor, a title that would be hers until Arthur, if ever, chose to marry.

She stalked along the old hallways, inclining her head majestically when she passed a servant, and descended the grand staircase.

Nobody thought to stop or question her. She hurried out and made for that part of the stables that had been converted to a modern garage to house Arthur’s two motorcars.

She looked left and right before entering, the smell of petrol and engine grease making her turn up her nose. She didn’t care however for she’d found the person she was looking for.

“Hello,” Alvarr said, cleaning his dirty hands on a rag. “I see you got my message.”

“You knew I did even before you saw me,” she said, striding up to him. They stared at each other for a full half minute and then she grabbed him by the neck, motor oil stains notwithstanding, and kissed him ravenously, a little dirtily, certainly not in the way an unmarried lady should kiss.

Alvarr grabbed her hair, tugged it loose from the tress she’d gathered it into and growled, “Very ladylike, my lady.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And why should I care?”

“I thought it still mattered.”

She scoffed, seeking his mouth again. He didn’t let her kiss him, studying her closely instead.

She saw that she’d have to make him see her point. “The property is entailed to the title anyway. Even though Arthur’s my junior.”

“You’ve always known that,” he said, caressing her cheek.

“Yes,” she admitted, tossing back her head. “I always have. Father wouldn’t resettle the property more equitably. Always talked proudly about the title and the estate. And only a son would get both so the two would never be separated. His son. I was always meant to marry some nobleman or other,” she said spitefully, as if she was addressing her late father. “So, I’ve always known it’d be like that. It doesn’t change how it makes me feel.”

“That is why,” said Alvarr then. “That’s why.”

“Is it a surprise?” she asked, knowing she sounded condescending. “I want to fight to gain the right to vote. When I have the vote, I’ll be able to express my opinion against laws like that, biased laws, made by men.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he said. “Ideals and practicality meet in your case.”

“I fight for other women as well,” she said.

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well said, my lady.” This time it was he who kissed her, the palm of his hand grazing her breast.

She sighed against him. “I’m not cold-hearted.”

“You’re fiery,” he told her.

“I’m also fighting to have the right to be with whomever I choose.”

He had her fully in his arms now, grazing her throat with his mouth.

They were daring too much today; anybody could walk by, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. So what? She’d stay proud, even if they shunned her for not being virtuous.

“There are ways and ways to fight,” he murmured against her neck, nipping at the skin. “Arthur is the only one who has the authority to force you into anything. Hold something against him, a weakness, and he won’t dare dictate your actions for fear you’ll check his.”

“Arthur’s a good man,” she said. And then she gasped.

“What?” Alvarr asked, smirking, as if he’d known all along. Had he? He couldn’t possibly.

Morgana wrung her hands. “Nothing.”

“Morgana...”

“At Eton,” she said. “When he was at Eton, Arthur developed a strong friendship with a fellow student. The Earl of Grantham’s son. He was sixteen, perhaps seventeen. He came home during the Christmas break and I knew he was in love.”

Alvarr’s eyes lighted up. “He fell for a man?”

“I’m sure nothing happened,” she reminisced. “I remember waiting outside father’s study. He was so furious. He shouted. Arthur stormed out in almost tears. I hated father that day. But I clearly remember him saying, ‘You’ll never frequent that boy again.’ Naturally, Arthur obeyed, being so dutiful.”

Alvarr lifted her up in his arms and pivoted around, giving her a twirl. “That’s what we want,” he said. “Your freedom for his secret, Morgana.” After two turns she felt light-headed.

Alvarr had probably felt her hands clamp around his forearms, for he put her down. “If you could also push him in the arms of someone now,” he began.

Morgana didn’t like any of this. She saw how holding something over Arthur’s head might help her. If she was free to do as she wanted, she could fight for her political opinions, attend rallies, speak up.

If an earl’s daughter did, more women would be moved to act like her. One day government would stop and listen.

“I can’t,” she said, and yet thought of the way she’d caught Arthur looking at his valet, with longing and passion.

“If you have something fresh to dangle over his head...”

Morgana didn’t like the tenor of Alvarr’s words. She stepped out of the circle of his arms. “You want me to push him into...”

“He’d have what he wants,” Alvarr said. “You’d get what you want. You wouldn’t really ruin him. Just let him know...”

“That I potentially could?”

“Yes.”

Morgana shook her head. Her mind was spinning in circles. There was her cause. And then there was her brother’s heart, what she believed to be right. She couldn’t do it.

“Sometimes,” Alvarr said, “when push comes to shove, there’s no honour that will hold. Sometimes being underhanded can help. Maybe you’re right. You have this goal and it’s for the greater good. Think of it that way.”

“I’ll have to weigh this,” she said. When she heard a noise outside the garage, she used it as an excuse to retreat to her rooms to think and consider. 

*****

Merlin was dusting the surface of Arthur’s desk when Arthur came in.

“That’s up to the maids,” he said. “And it’s fair day. Why aren’t you going? You should go.”

Merlin put the duster he’d borrowed from Forridel down, propping it against one of the desk’s sturdy wooden legs. “I thought you’d like it if everything was spotless,” he quipped, then sneezed because dust tended to affect him so.

“You’re dithering,” Arthur said, sinking in his armchair and crossing his stretched out legs at the ankles. “What could you possibly be afraid of?”

Merlin worried his lower lip. “I—”

“You hardly strike me as the shy type,” Arthur remarked. “Or as a competent housemaid,” he added, eyeing Merlin’s duster.

Merlin knew Arthur was right, that he had learnt enough about him to know Merlin was procrastinating. The point was that Merlin was intent on a generalised form of procrastination.

On the one hand, there was the fact that apart from Gwen and Freya, the rest of the staff hadn’t really taken a shine to him, so he didn’t look forward to spending time out with them.

He said as much: “I’m not anyone’s new favourite, you know. They think of me as someone who climbed the ranks too fast.”

“I didn’t know you were in the army,” Arthur said, snickering. “Or a debutante trying to hoodwink an old aristocratic codger into marrying her.”

“Alas,” Merlin said. “Even servants have ranks. It’s this new thing I’ve learnt.”

Arthur showed his displeasure at hearing that. His countenance spoke volumes, Merlin reflected.

Even when Arthur Pendragon adopted a stern front, it was easy to guess what he was feeling. The set of his mouth and the way his eyes clouded over gave him away. “Are they bothering you?”

“No,” Merlin answered, looking down.

“Then you should go,” Arthur said. “She likes you; she’s beautiful,” he added stiffly. “She’s better suited than...”

Merlin’s head whipped up.

“Most.”

Merlin foundered. He nodded to himself. There wasn’t anything untrue in what Arthur had said.

“You should pursue what is right for you,” said Arthur in his crisp, upper class tone.

Of course. What had Merlin thought? The point was rather that he hadn’t been thinking; he’d been acting on some spur of the moment decisions that had led to some silent longing and mostly nowhere. Apart from his feeling closer to an employer that had calmly, though gently rejected him.. Though, as his mum always said, that was Merlin through and through. He often acted first and thought later. “Then I have the evening off?”

“Most of the servants do,” Arthur said levelly. “Even Gaius and Mrs Corr are going.”

If most of the servants had decided to go to the fair, then Merlin would act like all the other servants and tag along as well.

Shortly afterwards Arthur dismissed him and, free to do as he wished, Merlin changed out of his uniform and into his Sunday clothes.

****

They were all meant to go together since they all worked at the same place and excluding someone would have looked rude.

It wasn’t the nicest of evenings however, since Cedric eyed him malevolently all the way to the village’s central square and Merlin was also sure that bastard of a footman had tripped him up when Merlin had been turning into a small, steep side street.

However, Merlin couldn’t be positive as to his having been the culprit and therefore had to reel in the punch he’d have liked to bestow on Cedric’s nose.

The sole consolation was Freya, who took his hand in hers and made him feel accepted, even though he wasn’t the same man he’d once been. But then she’d never known him from before.

The fair offered various kinds of entertainment. There was a band playing a jig; in another corner of the festival grounds a choir was singing merry songs. A tall pole decorated with garlands, festoons and various kinds of flowers had been erected earlier during the day and some of the village youngsters were maypole-dancing around it.

“I can’t do any of that,” Merlin told Freya when they’d been left to stand alone; all the other servants from the manor having dispersed to pursue their own interests.

She smiled up at him. “You don’t need to dance,” she said. “Look, there’s a raffle table and we could play Hook-a-duck.”

Merlin looked over at the water-filled, metal square pond that had been placed a few yards to his left. Inside it some toy ducks were floating. A portly farmer armed with a hooked pole was trying to pick up one of the ducks in order to win a prize for the young girl standing by his side. Merlin guessed the young thing was either his daughter or niece.

When the man won, the little girl started hopping around, beaming and giggling at being given a stuffed bear that was probably second-hand ware.

“I’d like to win a prize for you,” he told Freya, who looked at him with eyes that expressed all her sweetness.

She was beautiful, Arthur had been right on that score. And she seemed to understand him, in her quiet way, as if she too had some secret she was burying under the layers of her silence. He wouldn’t enquire, but he wanted her happy.

Merlin took her hand and led her towards the tiny pool. He observed the array of small prizes that had been showcased on the shelf directly in front of him and asked, “How many ducks do I have to hook to get that bracelet?”

It was a small, ornate silver thing. It wasn’t worth much, but it would sit nicely on Freya’s wrist.

The man who ran the booth said, “Three.”

Judging by the tone of his voice Merlin was sure the man didn’t think he’d be able to. Since there was no way this particular game could be rigged, Merlin decided to give it a try. He passed his cane to Freya and picked up the hooked pole.

His first attempt at fishing a duck out of the fake pond met with no success and the booth runner seemed satisfied.

“Nobody ever wins,” Freya whispered in his ear.

“Wait and see,” he bragged and tried harder, focusing on the heft of his pseudo rod. His third try was successful.

He unhooked the toy and gave it to the booth runner, who grunted and said, “You’ll have to get another two of those if you want your prize.”

Merlin squared his shoulder and went for the kill. This time he got his duck quickly. It was all wrist play.

Having devised a strategy, getting his third duck in a row was easy. “There,” he said, handing the little wet toy over. “I guess the lady here would like to have her prize.”

The booth runner growled something and handed Merlin the bracelet. Merlin turned, smiled, and fastened it around Freya’s wrist. “Do you like it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, running her fingertips over it. “It’s the prettiest thing that I was ever given.”

Merlin was taken aback. The bracelet was a trinket. How could it be the prettiest thing she’d been given as a gift? Even he, as poor as he’d always been, has sometimes been able to afford nicer presents for his friends. He kept on grinning though, happy that he’d been able to win it for her.

He took her hand in his and decided he’d better stop sulking and give her a good time. It wasn’t her fault if Merlin’s life was what it was or that he’d developed feelings — of the breathtaking, my-heart-thrums-when-I-see-you variety — for the wrong person.

“Let’s go see the ferret race,” he offered.

They enjoyed themselves, watching the ferret race and then walking over to a stand where they sold homemade cakes. They both had a slice, which they sat down to eat. The taste of Merlin’s carrot-cake was wholesome and reminded Merlin of home, of his mother, of happy days spent watching her baking when she wasn’t working hard so as to provide for him.

He was gently recalled from his musings by Freya’s laughter. “There’s sugar all over the tip of your nose,” she said. “You’re a messy eater.”

She fished a handkerchief, plain but pink, from her coat’s pocket and dabbed at Merlin’s nose with it. His eyes crossed to see what she was doing.

This action had her bursting out laughing. She looked merry and vibrant, far less subdued than when he’d first seen her. He knew this was the hidden Freya, the girl she wasn’t showing to the rest of the world. Something warm rose inside him and even though it was not what he should be, what he’d thought it’d have to be, he accepted her kiss.

Her lips were so soft when they met his that he judged the experience to be certainly positive.

She opened her mouth up to him and soon he was slipping his tongue inside. It was warm and gentle, an echo of something familiar and good. And yet he couldn’t say his heart was racing or that his senses were left reeling as they had been at the mere hint of his proximity.

Therefore he kept it slow and gentle, tongues barely meeting. She lifted her hand to caress the side of his face and that was what pulled him out of the sweet kiss. He intercepted her hand, laid a kiss on her knuckles and drew back, his own lips still tasting like hers. “I can’t be...” he said. And it was the truth. “I can’t be your sweetheart, Freya. I’m not the right person.”

“Is this because of your leg?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Then you have a girl back at home?”

“No,” he said, taking her hand. “There’s no one that will have me. But I think I...” He couldn’t tell her the truth, couldn’t compromise himself like that. The attraction he felt was considered a criminal offence if acted upon. “But my heart wants to make me think there is, that I have a chance. Even though I clearly haven’t... but I feel...”

A lock of Freya’s beautiful dark hair fluttered in the gentle breeze. She cast down her eyes but squeezed his hand. “It’s perfectly all right,” she said. “I was forward. It was me.”

“We were having a good time,” he said, feeling as though he should have given this, something that he could have, more of a chance. “It was very nice.”

“Was it?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “I kissed you back. I’m just not... in the right frame of... We wouldn’t work, I think,” he said, laying out the problem for what it was.

Freya said, “I thought we might. Because I’ve never been myself much around others. But with you I feel I can.”

He patted her hand. “And you can,” he said. “Because you’re my friend.”

It was midnight when they made it back to the manor. Some of the other servants, those who’d enjoyed the festivity and had indulged in a little extra-drink, were still at the fair as were Gaius and Mrs Corr.

“I think there’s something between them,” said Forridel.

“Nah,” replied the cook. “Mrs Corr is very respectable.”

“And why wouldn’t she be respectable if she had a bit of a thing for our butler?” Forridel challenged. “They’ve both worked here since their youth.”

Merlin was only half-listening, walking with his head bowed till they’d made it past the gate and into the Pendragon property.

On the one hand he hoped it was true. He hadn’t had long to get to know Gaius, but Merlin found he was a very good man and wished he could find happiness. On the other he was getting to know what gossip was all about. And since more than half the things they said about him weren’t true, he’d decided he’d never take anything that was whispered behind a third party’s back as truth until it was proved to be.

They were all filing past, using the servant’s entrance when he was stopped by a richly clad figure.

The corridor was dark but Merlin would have recognised the Lady Morgana’s sapphire necklace and penetrating green eyes everywhere.

“A word with you, if you don’t mind,” she said, gripping his wrist and tugging him towards the stairs. Great, this was exactly what he needed. The others hated him enough already without thinking he was some kind of protégé.

“It’s late,” Merlin feebly protested. He knew this would get him nowhere, but he couldn’t understand what the Lady Morgana would want with him.

“I understand,” the Lady Morgana said, slipping into the great, deserted drawing room, where the other servants couldn’t hear them. “But, as I said, I need to speak with you.”

Merlin was the earl’s valet. There was little reason for his sister to be addressing him since he wasn’t a household servant and she had a maid of her own.

“I’m all ears,” he said, given that he was the employee and she the sister of the owner.

“It’s about Arthur.”

Merlin nodded gravely.

“People talk,” she began and Merlin winced in response.

“I know that,” he said. “And I’m very sorry if it reached your ears.”

She looked at him as though she was sympathising. She wrapped her arm around his elbow and said, “That wasn’t your fault. But I hope this won’t interfere with your choices.”

Merlin thought that perhaps she believed he would give up on his job because some people were actively trying to make his life difficult. “I’m not going to let them chase me away, if that’s what you're thinking.”

She inclined her head as if to indicate that she was taking his words at face value. “I don’t believe that,” she said. “But I think that you will let them control other aspects of your life.”

Merlin couldn’t understand what she might mean. He’d never talked to her for so long. And though he’d watched her flit by often enough, this was the first time the Lady Morgana was addressing him directly for such a prolonged amount of time. “I’m sorry; I don’t think we’re on the same—”

She cut him off. “I know you think this a secret,” she began sweetly, smiling at him as if he was a two year old in need of a mother figure. “But it doesn’t need to be. I’m Arthur’s sister. I’ve grown up by his side and I think you should give him a chance.”

“Chance to do what exactly?” Merlin asked, nonplussed.

“I can see how he looks at you,” she said.

“With pity?” Merlin asked, seasoning the serious question with a smile.

“I know enough about him to have guessed his desires,” the Lady Morgana said. “I know he loved, or was strongly attached to someone, in the past. I know it didn’t go down well because of my father. That is why he won’t act. Don’t let him push you away.”

Merlin couldn’t act as though he hadn’t got the message now. He was sure he’d paled somewhat. This was something you didn’t admit to. This was something that needed to be kept private. The law would make a criminal of him otherwise.

“Would you wish him something like that? Something that needs to stay hidden when he can be happy?”

Morgana dug her fingers in his arm. “Dissembling won’t make him happy. He’ll try to do what’s best for you, what father would have wanted,” she said emphatically, “but not what’s good for him. And you — you have the upper hand. He’ll never act because he thinks he’s done something to you that can never be forgiven, so he’ll long and want and he’ll end up settling for a middle way. A life of duty where happiness is just a bare glimpse of what could have been.”

Merlin was speechless. He didn’t think Arthur Pendragon was so... interested. He strongly doubted that. There had been a moment, but maybe that was all it would ever be, a spark of attraction that would fizzle to nothing. “I... what should I do? There’s nothing I...”

“Let yourself go,” Morgana said in the tone of a visionary. “Allow yourself to get to know him.”

“That’s dangerous,” Merlin allowed. “That’s... I stand to lose everything.”

Cryptically the Lady Morgana said, “Or gain everything.”

****

Arthur was dressed and raring to go when the door opened and in waltzed Merlin, looking more awake than he ever had at such an hour. Apart from Merlin’s usual early morning somnolence something else was missing.

The man had evidently left his cane behind and though his limp hadn’t magically disappeared, it wasn’t as pronounced as it was when Merlin was tired after a long day on his feet.

Maybe sending him off to court that nice girl had done the trick. Arthur stiffened and the stupid barb he’d meant to fling Merlin’s way got lost on the way from his brain to his mouth.

That might also have happened because Arthur noticed that his valet wasn’t wearing his uniform. On the contrary, he was sporting a homely tweed ensemble that had assuredly seen better days, a few years ago.

“Did you lose your livery?” Arthur asked, feeling inexplicably cross at Merlin’s chipper mood and silly smiles.

“No,” Merlin said, still wearing that electrified expression. “It’s on the bed, so it won’t get creased.”

Arthur walked over to Merlin, circling him. “Then why are you wearing these clothes?”

“Because,” Merlin answered promptly, “I’m going grouse hunting with you, like any good valet.”

Arthur was surprised. They’d have to ride to get to the perfect spot. Arthur doubted Merlin could mount, or that his leg wouldn’t hurt after long hours spent in the saddle. What was the idiot trying to prove? That all rumours about him were unfounded?

Merlin was becoming a half-decent personal servant, truth be told, so they actually were. And the things he couldn’t do, like assisting him in the hunt, weren’t really all that important. Arthur could make do with Lancelot. “Lancelot is going to be there. No need for you,” he said.

Arthur saw Merlin wince. “I told you before I can do everything the other servants do. You don’t need to burden anyone else with my chores.” Then a little bit more desperate. “I want you to see me as the person I am, not my injury. I’m done being defined by it. I‘ve let it make me angry for long enough.”

Arthur couldn’t argue with that so he chose to cede the field. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll be out till dusk. No complaining, nor arguing. Since you want it that way.”

Merlin brimmed with joy.

****

They met with Leon and Percival, who were in turn accompanied by their personal servants, in the hall.

Percival was in a very happy mood, bursting at the seams with energy. Leon was being more sedate, but he didn’t seem to regret having come down to the country to spend a few days outdoors.

Horses saddled, Lancelot having joined them, they made for Arthur’s favourite hunting spot, deep into the woods that were a part of the estate.

They spent the first part of the morning hunting grouse and partridges.

Lancelot had unleashed the gundogs to disturb the concealed covey of birds so as to make them take off.

Arthur had been doing quite well but not as well as he might have out of his worrying for Merlin.

Merlin always stood behind him and Arthur couldn’t help but think that the enforced standing position must be uncomfortable for him. But Merlin gave no sign of discomfort even after lunchtime.

Arthur was actually trying to aim at a bird that had just taken flight, having managed to distract himself from the idea of his valet being uncomfortable because he’d agreed as to his tagging along, when Merlin murmured into his ear, “I can’t see why you find this entertaining.”

Arthur shot wide of the target and the grouse took flight, safe. Disgruntled, Arthur span around and said, “Grouse are able to fly at great speeds. A high level of skill is required to shoot them, believe me. It’s a noble sport; it takes great aim and concentration to be able to bring one of those birds down!”

“It seems to me that you’re just having fun killing poor innocent birds.”

“We’re eating them! So it’s not pointless.”

Merlin snorted, “Surely not all of them are going to end up on your table. With Geraint gone, you have two guests left,” he said, indicating Leon and Percival, who were taking aim a few yards ahead. They can’t eat grouse all day long and you’ve already shot more game than you can eat at a single sitting!”

Lancelot overheard Merlin and said, “My lord, I’m afraid your valet has a point.”

Arthur saw Merlin wink at Lancelot and this irritated him. He stalked away, rifle pointed down. His intention had been two reach his other two friends, and he was about to, when he heard Merlin’s shout, “Watch out! Dive.”

He ducked and amidst the confusion he distinctly heard the sound of a rifle going off. He was on the ground, stretched out on a muddy knoll, when he propped himself up on his elbows and understood what had happened.

Merlin was hobbling very quickly towards the part of the clearing where Leon had stood but a few seconds before.

But Leon was on the ground now, clutching at his leg and groaning. Someone had shot him.

Arthur shot to his feet and hurried towards his friend, overtaking Merlin.

Percival was trying to help Leon but it seemed he was at a loss for what to do. “What the hell was that?”

Merlin sank onto his knees at Leon’s side and said, “Let me see.”

Leon was trembling and sweating. He was in a state of shock.

Arthur squatted next to Merlin and asked, “Did one of our guns go off?”

Merlin filched Arthur’s pocket knife from his belt-strap and ripped Leon’s trousers with it, causing Leon to make a pained sound, thus exposing the wound.

The wound itself was bleeding profusely but underneath the blood coating it was clearly fairly large and oval in shape. And this made Arthur pale and feel relieved at the same time. He now knew that neither he nor Percival were responsible.

They’d been using birdshot, which were small pellets specifically engineered to shoot birds. The size of Leon’s wound told Arthur that it had been produced by some kind of larger lead shot. This exonerated both Percival and he from responsibility but it meant there was a hunter about, on his property no less, who had such poor aim he could have killed Leon.

Surely it had to have been some poacher’s doing. But now was not the time to dwell on that.

Even Merlin saw that and took action. He slipped off his braces, tore his shirt and with the ripped material he made a tight bandage he wrapped around Leon’s thigh. He seemed to know what he was doing and Arthur pointed that out.

“How do you know what to do?”

“When I was in hospital for my problem I had plenty of time to watch the doctors. They explained a lot of things to me. I suppose they did it to cheer me up.” Merlin tightened the bandage’s knot. “There, this will stop the bleeding, but he needs a doctor.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” Leon panted.

Arthur said, “Lancelot, ride back to the property and get us Alvarr and a car. We need to take Leon to the local hospital. Go quick.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Lancelot, taking off at a run. Leon's servant looked as though he was about to swoon at the sight of blood and Percival's had ridden off with Lancelot.

Percival sat next by Leon and tried to take his mind off the pain by chattering about London society. Leon was being stoic and only grunted at regular intervals. Yet his complexion had gone so pale Arthur was starting to worry. His anatomy knowledge was limited, but he certainly knew that a thigh wound could be dangerous if the artery had been damaged.

Merlin was as nervous as Arthur, but he was also proving to be efficient. He took Leon’s pulse from time to time, checked that his bandage was holding and tried to cheer Leon up by saying funny things.

Arthur saw Merlin in a different light then and there, realised this young man had so much potential and it was being wasted while he worked in a lowly position. As Arthur waited for the car, he had time to mull a little about Merlin.

Arthur admired him, liked him and would have liked to get closer to him. Even now, he felt more confident, could feel more optimistic, because Merlin was here.

Finally the car arrived; Lancelot had to have galloped instead of cantered all the way to the property to make it back so quickly.

He and Percival helped Leon get into the backseat. There wasn’t enough space for all of them in the car so he said, “Merlin, go with him.”

Merlin was, for once, quick to obey him.

“Percival, his servant and I will ride behind you, no point wasting time.”

Lancelot was already starting the engine in preparation for driving towards the village and its nearest hospital, when Arthur saw that something or someone was missing.

“Where’s Alvarr?” Arthur asked.

“I couldn’t find him, so I just drove the car here,” said Lancelot. “I had to take the forest road and wasted some time but it was the only thing I could think of.”

“You acted admirably Lancelot,” Arthur said. “Drive Leon to St Mary’s. We’ll follow behind. Go quick!”

****

They, that was Percival, Jones, his servant, and he followed more slowly because of their means of transport but made it to St Mary’s, the local hospital, in a little less than an hour.

It was Merlin who gave them the news as to Leon’s state of health.

“The doctor’s just seen him,” he told Arthur, as if he knew Arthur would be on tenterhooks till he knew how his friend was faring. “He said Lord Asherton was lucky. They’re extracting the buckshot as we speak. Then they’ll have to keep him overnight, but there was no great damage done. The shot embedded itself in the softer tissue of his thigh, so didn’t prove fatal.”

Arthur exhaled, glad to find the worst hadn’t come to pass. Leon might not have been an intimate friend, Arthur hadn’t really allowed himself any of those since his school days, but he was a kind friend nonetheless. Besides, the accident had happened on his property and he felt responsible.

“They’ll let you see him as soon as he wakes up, no worries there,” said Merlin, touching his shoulder. It was a comfort, Arthur found. And he didn’t care about Percival being there.

Percival was a good man but not subtle. He would never guess. He could never guess that Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if he and Merlin went down that road. Merlin had shown earlier today that he could be competent, clever with his hands, and gentle. Arthur was struck.

“Thank you,” Arthur said. “Just,” and he didn’t know what to say beyond that. Merlin took his cue from him and led him to sit down on a little bench that had been placed against the wall of the corridor.

“There you go, my lord,” he said and gave a small smile, a smile probably meant to cheer Arthur up and take his mind off the stressful events of the day. Arthur was grateful but he couldn’t stop thinking about what had nearly happened.

“I should have made sure the grounds were safe,” Arthur said.

“My lord,” Merlin objected. “It wasn’t your fault.” His expression was so earnest and guileless that Arthur really was sure that Merlin believed his own words. But he’d been a terrible host, slack in seeing to his duties.

Lancelot walked up to them and said, “I couldn’t help overhearing, your Lordship,” he said sombrely. “And I must say that if anyone is at fault here, it was me. I’m the gamekeeper; I should have made sure no poachers were around. Accidents like this.” Lancelot was shaking. “I’d understand if you wanted to sack me, my lord.”

Lancelot cast his head down just as Merlin said vehemently, “You can’t dismiss him! It wasn’t his fault. I noticed. I heard someone moving in the underbrush. If you want to sack anyone that should be me. If I could’ve run quickly, things might have gone down differently.”

Merlin had taken what had happened to heart, even though he didn’t know Leon.

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin,” Arthur said. “If anything you were a great help, so stop beating yourself up. I’ll naturally have to report what happened to the police. I won’t hush the scandal, but it wasn’t your fault. Not yours, Merlin, and not yours, Lancelot.”

Later in the evening they let Arthur see Leon. The doctor cautioned him not to spend more than half an hour with him, so as not to stress his wounded friend.

During that half hour, Arthur was able to see for himself that Leon, though pale and wounded, wasn’t in any danger of any kind. This reassured him.

He patted Leon’s hand and said, “Take care of yourself. And don’t worry. We’ll catch the man who was did this to you.”

Leon was affable, though narcotised. He smiled and said that his wound was just a scratch. It was ‘nothing’.

“It could have been worse,” Arthur said. “You could have... Look at what happened to Merlin.”

Leon rolled his head on his pillow and asked, “I’ve always wondered why you hired him and what happened to him to cause that limp.”

“Six months ago, I was in London,” Arthur said, taking a chair and pushing it closer to Leon’s bed. He sat down on it and began his tale. “I’d spent the night before at a dinner party. I’d barely slept. And I had a morning appointment with my solicitor. I was drowsy and not paying attention to where I was going.”

Arthur swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth. Even remembering what had happened made him nervous, every time. “I crossed the street and an idiot in his brand new motor car was speeding along. Only apparently he didn’t quite know how to drive it yet. He would have run me over if Merlin, whom at the time I didn’t know from Adam, hadn’t pushed me aside. The injury to his leg... He saved my life and got that in return.”

“Now I see why you hired him,” said Leon. “Well, you might say I was lucky if you compare my accident to what happened to your valet.”

Arthur bristled. “He might be new at this, but he’s becoming quite competent,” Arthur confessed. “Maybe there’s something better he could do with his skills but—”

Leon rumbled a laugh. “I’ve never heard you speak so well of anybody before.”

Arthur coughed. “Well, he’s an idiot,” he specified.

“His heart is in the right place,” Leon said. “Thank him on my behalf as well. He was quite providential.” Leon produced a mighty yawn and Arthur saw his friend was tired and in pain. “I’ll let you sleep for now. “

Leon nodded and by the time Arthur had reached the door he’d fallen asleep.

****

After their visit to the police station they drove back to the manor. They made it back past nightfall, all of them worried and sombre.

Lancelot was still convinced that what had happened was his fault. Merlin was trying to make him see reason, while Percival remained silent.

Finally Arthur was back home, very ready to forget everything that had happened. “Merlin,” he said, “if it’s not too much after today, can I ask you to, you know, draw me a bath?”

Merlin nodded and made for the stairs. As he mounted them, Morgana descended them. She flew in Arthur’s arms, hair, usually coiffed to perfection, in disarray, and said, “Lancelot said... when he came for the car. I’m so sorry. How’s Leon?” She looked as though she was possessed.

Arthur said, “Calm down, Morgana.”

“Will he live?”

Arthur saw that she was worrying, she was looking so strained, and he tried to set her mind at ease. “Yes, it was just a small wound. There were no broken bones or artery damage. He’ll pull through in a few days.”

Morgana smiled a wan smile, the corners of her mouth were drawn down with an anxious, tight expression. “Is it the truth?”

“Yes,” said Arthur.

“Do you know who was responsible?” she asked, placing her hand on the banister.

Arthur saw no reason not to tell her the truth. “Probably a poacher. I’ve spoken with the police. They’ll enquire into the matter but the officer in charge isn’t confident they’ll find out who did it.”

The set of Morgana’s shoulders relaxed. “Perhaps it was an accident.”

Arthur was tired and didn’t feel like arguing or dissecting what had happened. However he had to convey what he felt. “I’m sure it must have been. But Leon might have died. Whoever was responsible should step up and face the consequences.”

Morgana attempted another smile. “Of course, you’re right.”

Arthur was surprised to find that Morgana wasn’t fighting with him over this, not crusading on behalf of some poor sod who poached because he went hungry or something, but he reflected that she must have guessed he was tired and was giving him an out.

“Yes, well,” he said, starting to climb the stairs towards his own room, “as I said... Good night, Morgana.”

“Good night, Arthur.”

****

When Arthur pushed the door to his room open, he found the fire blazing in the fireplace and a warm atmosphere inside. Merlin was drawing the curtains.

Upon hearing the door close, he turned around and said, “I’ve drawn you a bath, as you asked.” Merlin tilted his head to the left to point to the ensuite.

“Thank you,” said Arthur, finally shedding his hunting jacket. It was bloodstained and grass-stained and he simply wanted it off him. It was a horrible reminder of what had happened today.

Merlin limped over to him and made as if to pick it up. Arthur stopped him by wrapping a hand around his wrist.

“You’re tired,” he said. “You... Surprisingly, you were quite knowledgeable about...”

Merlin’s laughter stopped Arthur.

Arthur asked, “What?”

“You think lower class people are good for nothing.”

“I never said any such thing,” Arthur protested. “I—”

“But you think it,” said Merlin, eyes gauging him. Eyes that were so blue, their expression so honest that Arthur felt a shiver run down his spine.

There were so many reasons why he couldn’t indulge in this. It was considered wrong. His father would roll in his grave if he could have known. He’d promised he wouldn’t do anything that would tarnish the Pendragon name and this would if it was known.

It’d been a deathbed promise, even more binding because of that.

But he felt this urge, this desire to get closer to Merlin, who had so many things going for him, who was loyal and had a sense of humour and made Arthur long for him by virtue of just being there.

He stopped thinking and pulled Merlin to him. They ended up standing chest to chest, Arthur still gripping Merlin’s wrist tight as if he couldn’t let go or as if he did Merlin would vanish like a mirage.

Merlin inhaled; closed his eyes. “Arthur,” he said, and that made Arthur want him even more.

Arthur had to say it though, give him a choice. “You don’t have to,” he murmured low, wetting lips that had gone dry. “I’m your employer and I don’t want you to think...” The right words wouldn’t come easily, whereas they usually did. “I don’t want you to think you have to do this to keep your job.”

Merlin moved even closer if possible and started nosing under his jaw. Arthur gripped his jacket tight, creasing the material. He could feel Merlin’s breath on his neck.

Merlin said, “Do you know how I knew you were in danger that time?”

“When you?”

“Yes,” Merlin said. “Then.”

Arthur attempted to shake his head, but Merlin’s lips were by now roaming over his face, down his throat and Arthur couldn’t well move. He said, “No... I...”

Between kisses bestowed on the side of his jaw, Merlin said, “I noticed you because I...” He chuckled, “found you handsome. Probably pretentious, with that air about you, as if you owned the world, but I was looking at you. And then I realised you had your head up in the clouds, motor racing towards you, and I didn’t think. I acted.”

He wrapped an arm around Arthur’s waist. “Do I have to do all the work here?” he asked with a note of insouciance Arthur was happy to find was still there.

Service sometimes erased all traces of a personality, especially when the establishment one worked for was such a prestigious, well-oiled machine as the one maintained by Gaius and Alice.

Arthur was happy to see Merlin hadn’t changed yet. Hoped he never would.

Arthur found his voice. “No,” he said, “I just meant... I’m the one who’s indebted. To you. And you’re free. Even if you say no. It would never change anything.”

Arthur slid his hands from Merlin’s back down to his hips, pressing closer. “I would never force you to.”

Merlin’s mouth sought his, a tiny press of lips that were already quirking up either in amusement or joy.

“You’re very noble, but I know you’re not using me.” Merlin kissed him, kissed his mouth open and Arthur could no longer think straight or discriminate. He felt heat rush to his face when Merlin’s hips met his, thoroughly clothed as they were.

Arthur made a low noise in his throat. It had been so long since he’d indulged in something like this, something that he wanted and wasn’t imposed by society, appearances.

He pushed Merlin backward towards the bed, trying to hold him so he wouldn’t stumble, even though Arthur was marching him backwards.

When Merlin was backed against his bed, Arthur captured his face in his hands, looked his fill and kissed Merlin’s mouth, his tongue now playing with Merlin’s, pushing hard against it.

As they kissed, carnal, wanting, Arthur held Merlin to him, hands exploring his body feverishly, palms roaming across his chest and down his back.

Merlin toed off his shoes, popped the top button of Arthur’s shirt open and freed him from his pullover.

They fell on the bed, Merlin sprawling, Arthur on top of him, between his legs.

One of Merlin’s legs was bent at the knee, foot lying flat on the soft blanket. He wasn’t bending the other; probably couldn’t fully.

Arthur propped himself up and panted out, “I don’t want to hurt you. Am I?”

Merlin shook his head from side to side. He reached out instead and opened another button on Arthur’s shirt, saying, “I’m glad this one has no cuff-links.”

He made quick work of the others and tugged the shirt off Arthur’s shoulders, letting it fall beside the bed.

Flesh uncovered, he ran the palm of his hands up Arthur’s sides. Arthur closed his eyes at the touch.

Merlin’s roving hands paused on their journey for a few heartbeats, then meandered down Arthur’s torso, till they came to a standstill.

“Open your eyes,” Merlin said, and Arthur was reluctant because this was what he’d wished for, this low thrum in his veins, this melting feeling in his belly, the pressure at his groin, and he didn’t want to open his eyes. He was afraid that if he did, the dream would shatter and his life would go back to being the same bleak, half-devoid of meaning drudgery that it had been ever since he’d laid aside his boyish dreams.

Merlin pressed forward and touched his lips to the hollow of Arthur’s throat, while his fingers slid down and undid the button that held Arthur’s trousers closed.

“You’ll have to answer me now,” Merlin said. “You have to tell me if you want my hands on you.”

He stopped toying with the buttons, laid another kiss on Arthur’s chest and asked again, voice choke full of emotion. “Do you want me to?”

Arthur had to open his eyes then, had to see. He reached out and touched Merlin’s face, his smile, his cheekbones and said, “Yes.” Quite simple, even though it was momentous.

He was an adult now; these weren’t the excusable hungry touches of youth. He was committing to this. In the end it was easy.

He smiled, kissed Merlin’s cheek and only hissed when Merlin’s wrapped his fingers around him. He reacted to the touch as if it was an irresistible shock.

His breathing speeded up when Merlin treated him to a couple of long pulls that made Arthur harden exponentially, freeing him from his trousers in the process.

Encouraged by Arthur’s response, Merlin made a fist of his hand and started tugging, stroking him slowly. He fondled Arthur, cupped him to give him a moment of reprieve, and then got back to stripping him, making him let out a breath that sounded pained.

Arthur scrambled for Merlin’s shirt, nearly tore it open. He thrust into Merlin’s hand while he tried to get at more of Merlin’s skin, wanting to feel it against his, the warmth of it.

He muzzled Merlin’s neck as he opened his trousers and found his length with greedy, awkward, trembling fingers, all the while nipping at his throat.

To experiment, he ducked his head to take a nipple in his mouth.

Merlin’s shirt hung open but was not off him, while his cock poked out of his trousers, red and engorged.

Like this Merlin was a sight for sore eyes, fevered flush on his cheeks, high-colour spreading on his neck and chest, pupils dilated and mouth slack.

The noises coming out of Merlin's throat were low and guttural, more like grunts than any sound resembling those normally produced by human beings.

They fired Arthur’s lust and soon both he and Merlin were bringing each other off, seeking relief, Merlin’s fingers digging into Arthur’s back, while Arthur nibbled on Merlin’s throat and shoulders.

Very nearly mounting Merlin, Arthur planted his knees on the mattress to gain better leverage to piston into Merlin’s hand, to make it faster, merciless, raw, hissing at the contact.

He was doing much the same to Merlin, playing with his foreskin, tugging, till he felt his pre-come moist cock give a little jerk within his grip, contracting under his fingers, and then Merlin shivered, called out his name and sagged, coming into his hand.

Arthur’s rhythm became frantic, fast, hungry, a little feral. He’d renounced this for so long and now it was here, another body, the body of a man he wanted, liked, felt inexplicable feelings for.

He was thirsting for it and his body took what it wanted. His hips stuttered and he throbbed his release after one final thrust.

He was breathing too fast, felt both hot and cold at the same, time, sweat sticking to him in a manner that wasn’t wholly pleasant now.

Spent, Arthur cleaned his hand on the sheets, collapsed beside Merlin and said, “You still have most of your clothes on.”

Merlin’s length was now hanging limp from out his underwear, making Arthur want to reach out and touch, to learn about him, learn how to be intimate in the way he longed to be.

“I like it; like this,” Merlin said, shrugging, sex flush subsiding slowly as he took each new breath.

“It wasn’t bad,” Arthur joked. “Maybe next time... we could, I don’t know,” he said, not trusting himself to make an offer until he knew Merlin was interested in doing it all over again.

He’d said he wanted it this time, but Arthur wasn’t sure the offer would hold, and he wouldn’t swallow his pride in order to ask Merlin whether he’d liked their roughhousing sex enough to care for a repeat performance.

Arthur’s idea of sex had perhaps been gentler, but then in the past he’d had women sharing his bed and he’d been taught, mostly by father and an unspoken rule that gentlemen held sacred, that women needed gentleness.

He wasn’t sure that all women would agree; he wasn’t sure if all men would agree, but he knew he wanted to learn what Merlin liked best.

Merlin rolled onto his side, tucking himself in and blushing while he did so. “I have a bit of a surgical scar,” he said. “I like that it wasn’t the first thing you associated with me. I’m not... breakable. Never was. I’m—”

Arthur sat up, braced his arm, bent over Merlin and licked into his mouth, the slide of his tongue slow and wet.

Merlin cradled his cheek and Arthur felt warmth envelop him all over. He pulled back, then took a look at Merlin’s reddened lips only to snatch another kiss, shallow but sweet, and another one and another one. He felt like a boy. “I don’t mind. It’s not... I wouldn’t think any the less of you for... I find you attractive.” He didn't add that he thought that they were all breakable, recalling what might have happened to Leon just a few hours before.

Merlin grinned. “Why thank you, your Lordship.”

Arthur drew himself up as much as he could in his state of dishabille and said, “Truly... It’s not... I would like it if you came to my bed again...”

“I am in your bed.”

“Stay in it then,” Arthur said, not meeting Merlin’s eyes but looking at the oil lamp on the nightstand.

“I’ll have to be gone before morning,” Merlin said, espousing cautiousness. “I’m so tired already. If I stay, I won’t wake up and the servants will learn of it. We have everything to lose if they find out.”

Arthur said, “You’re the servant who wakes me up every morning anyway. You’re the first person I meet. Nobody comes in before you do. So stay.” Then a thought occurred to Arthur. “If that is what you want, naturally.”

Merlin laid a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I was thinking of the others who sleep in the servants’ quarters. They’re bound to notice if I don’t make it back. I want to stay. I want to. ”

In answer Arthur shed all his remaining articles of clothing.

Merlin eyed him ravenously. “If you do that, I’ll have to stay,” he said.

“Please do.”

 

****

 

Alvarr stopped the car before a low grey building that had an iron door. “Here we are,” he said. “They’re going to discuss the defeated Conciliation Bill,” he added. “This means they might get violent. Mr Talbott, he’s a local liberal leader, is going to speak, and you’ll meet WSPU campaigners. There will be hecklers. It could turn violent.”

“I want to hear what Mr Talbott’s got to say,” Morgana said, glaring at Alvarr. She hadn’t stolen away from her house, feeding her brother fibs, just so she could come here and turn tail.

“I understand that,” Alvarr answered, looking at the door that would lead into an enclosed courtyard. They’d been there before and she remembered the place’s layout.

“But you must see that not everybody wants the same thing! I’ve read the newspapers, Morgana. There are MPs opposing the Bill because they’re anti-suffrage and in a village as small as this one most are going to support their stance. Some liberals think the proposed numbers of women voters would be too narrow and unfair to the majority and some others are afraid that if a thousand women get the vote, it will be the wrong thousand.”

Morgana arched an eyebrow at Alvarr. There could be no wrong thousand. It would be a step towards liberty and true democracy. If it just could be.

Alvarr explained himself, “They think the rich ones who’d vote Conservative would get the vote and they’re not too keen to give such a weapon to them. So believe me, words will fly, if not fists.”

Alvarr observed the crowd of people trickling in to take part in the rally.

Morgana opened the car’s door and stepped outside, causing Alvarr to curse. “I was about to suggest,” he said, in an annoyed tone, “that perhaps it would be better if you let me park the Renault, and let me come.”

“I can defend myself,” Morgana pointed out. If they were here to fight for women’s equality, it would be logical that she should be allowed to support her cause with no male interference.

Alvarr leant against the car’s bonnet. He took off his chauffeur hat and threw it on the vacated backseat through the lowered window. “I do not doubt that,” he said. “Against one, two people perhaps? I’d say the odds would be in your favour. But a crowd? Things tend to turn vicious when politics and bills are discussed. No matter one’s position. Let me escort you.”

She shook her head, adjusting her white silk gloves. “No, Alvarr, I’ll go in by myself.”

She took a step towards the entrance door. Alvarr grabbed her arm. “Morgana, be reasonable.”

Morgana scoffed.

Alvarr wasn’t pacified. “You know I’m mad about you, don’t you?”

She lifted her shoulders; it wasn’t a shrug since she didn’t mean it to be. She cared about Alvarr. He was the only man who could understand her principles and help her fight. But the last thing she wanted was to be viewed as a damsel in distress, as her father had seen her and just as Arthur still thought of her.

“Attraction has nothing to do with this,” she noted, pointing at the bedraggled workers filtering in to listen to men argue in favour of universal suffrage, women rights and Irish Home Rule.

“I’d agree,” said Alvarr, moving closer to her, holding her gaze in a defiant way. “If I didn’t want to protect you. But I do. I do and I understand I have no right to, Morgana.”

“No,” she agreed. “After my late father’s death the only one who apparently has a right to look out for me is my brother. I won’t let him, I’m fighting him tooth and nail over this. His paternalism, however well meaning, is just another kind of yoke. I hate it. Sometimes I even think I hate him because of the law, because of the horrible discrimination that entail is. Why should I want to give you that kind of power over me?”

“I’d like to marry you, Lady Morgana,” Alvarr said in a low hiss that made her tremble. “I’d like to help you fight, be your ally, watch out for you should you need it. We are partners, after all.”

Probably knowing that wasn’t the way to convince her, he changed tack. “And I’d expect the same from you. You looking out for me.”

His eyes narrowed to cat-like slits, confusing her. His words were impassioned, his proximity made her long to run her hands through his hair, and while she did find the idea of sharing a lifetime of moments and righteous fights with him appealing, especially if she tried to picture Arthur’s appalled reaction at the idea, she wasn’t sure that marriage wouldn’t be a contradiction.

She’d been fighting to call her house and title her own despite the entail to the mail heir, and marrying Alvarr seemed like giving up. Not that he would have a right to her personal property, should she manage to come into it, but he’d be her husband and in the eyes of society that would count as her no longer being independent.

“You’re thinking you’d be marrying beneath your station,” he said scathingly. “You like to play lady bountiful, Lady Morgana, but you’re still very fond of the advantages privilege gives you.”

“It’s not true,” she hissed, angered. “I’m against Arthur because of what he represents, not him. It’s recognition I want, not the money. I’m the first born!”

“Think that’s your reason?” Alvarr barked. “I know it isn’t. I’m still not good enough for you. You want the best of both worlds, Morgana. You want to be a lady and look down on me and you want not to be one, to go and fight in the political arena. You can’t have both!”

****

Alice usually met up with Gaius after the Sunday service. It was their free day and they were not supposed to make it back to the manor till dinnertime.

Once a week the household could see to itself with no need for the butler and housekeeper to direct the staff. It was pleasant and Alice looked forward to discussing small matters with Gaius.

At first, during past years, they’d tried to talk shop, but they’d soon found that they had many more topics to chat about than one would have thought, considering their very different backgrounds. For instance Gaius was the son of an impecunious doctor and it was only because the old man had been unable to support his son that Gaius had gone into service.

As for Alice, she’d been born on a farm a few miles away from the manor, and if she’d been born richer, she would have completed her studies and gone to London to become a nurse.

They still both retained some medical knowledge imbibed from others; his father in Gaius’ case and a schoolteacher who’d tried to get her into nursing school in Alice’s.

But they didn’t have just that interest in common. After so many years they’d come to rely on each other’s insight and to view the staff of the Pendragon manor as some sort of enlarged family.

Some of its members merely flitted by, took on a position and were never seen again after a few months, while some others became fixtures in Alice and Gaius’ lives.

Today as they watched his Lordship file out of church, where he’d sat in the pew reserved for the family, they both shared looks.

They did when they noticed how his Lordship, who usually hastened back home after service, was loitering on, exchanging a few words with the vicar, a young man from Birmingham named Gilli Farringdon.

The Earl of Albion patted the new vicar on the arm, praised his sermon, although both Alice and Gaius knew he’d slept through it, and waited on.

Then his valet, who’d sat in the back pews with the other servants, came out of the old church. His Lordship stopped making small talk with the vicar and turned around, flashing his valet an unguarded smile.

As Merlin slowly walked over to him, his Lordship said, “There you are. I hope you didn’t snore during service.”

Merlin smiled. “No, it was enlightening. Especially that part of the sermon about Matthew and the power of Rome. Very absorbing.”

The earl scratched his head, perplexed, and the vicar attempted to launch into another explanation of the sermon. His Lordship raised an eyebrow at Merlin and Alice read in the gesture a clear, ‘see what you’ve done? Now extricate me!’ But there was such a note of good humour that lit up his Lordship’s countenance that Alice had to wonder what that meant.

 

“I think the earl is not a scholar,” Merlin was saying and that alone might have been considered an insult no servant would have ever uttered before his master, but Merlin was doing it and not incurring his Lordship’s wrath. On the contrary, his Lordship was smiling vibrantly at him. When he wasn’t doing it, it was because he was lending an ear to the vicar. And yet he kept on leaning into Merlin on the pretence of helping him stand even when the clergyman had his attention.

“Gaius,” Alice whispered, “we all know I’m an old coot and might be seeing things that aren’t there, but look at the earl, please, and tell me what you see.”

Gaius moved a little so he could better study the scene that was taking place before them. When he was done, he lent Alice his elbow so she could hook her arm around his.

“For one thing, my dear Alice,” Gaius said, “I wouldn’t call you by any means old. We’re simply no longer as young as we used to be. For another, I think I see what you see, but it could be interpreted in so many ways.”

“Which ways?”

“His Lordship has worried very much over his wounded friend. The police weren’t able to find the scoundrel responsible. Merlin is a good lad. He’s likely understood that and he’s trying to cheer his master up. Being young, he does it in the way you saw.”

Alice shook her head and looked at the sky up ahead as if the view of the placid horizon could help her put her thoughts in order. “I don’t know. I think his Lordship’s happy. As much as he allows himself to be.”

She wished a good day to an acquaintance she spotted crossing the road and then reprised her subject. “We’ve watched Arthur grow, Gaius, from when he was a young lad till he left for boarding school. We know what the late earl has brought him up to be and this Arthur is behaving in a boyish and carefree way for the first time in a long time. There, he’s laughing so loud we can hear him down the road! I know we shouldn’t play the part of scandal mongers tho’.”

Gaius chuckled, pulling her a little bit closer, as much as was proper. “If we have to indulge in scandal, can’t we indulge in some of our own making? Living vicariously isn’t as interesting as... other things might be.”

Alice slugged Gaius on the arm. “Gaius, I’m an old woman.”

“I still maintain that you are not, my dear friend.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my dear,” Gaius said. “Now, let’s try not to make it look as though we find what his Lordship’s doing is suspicious. The other servants look up to us and will take a cue from us.”

Alice doubted that was true of all servants. “Cedric won’t, you know that.”

“Alas, I do,” said Gaius pensively, steering her towards the village’s tearoom. “We’ll give him so much to do that he’ll be forcibly distracted. Whatever’s happening we know nothing, absolutely nothing.”

“I think you’re right,” Alice convened.

“Perfect,” Gaius said. “Now what say you to some tea and biscuits and a little scandal of our own?”

“I say nothing would please me more, Gaius.”

****

When Arthur made it back to his rooms after having had a chat with the slowly recovering Leon, it was well past dinnertime.

He’d have expected not to find Merlin there at all, since he’d dismissed him before dinner, telling him that he’d undress by himself since he intended to stay up and chat a little. Leon was confined to his bed or armchair, and had had to postpone some business meetings in London because of what had happened to him. Arthur felt it was his duty to spend time with his friend.

Cheering up his friend had entailed a couple of bottles of Burgundy and a long discussion that had taken the best part of the evening.

Now it was midnight and Arthur certainly wasn’t expecting to find Merlin in his quarters. Or to find Merlin in his quarters, sitting on the floor, cane on a chair, petting one of Arthur’s hunting dogs, a shaggy deerhound whose tongue was lolling out.

He hadn’t expected that because Merlin’s wake-up call was at six o’ clock and the dog belonged in the kennels with the other hunting dogs.

Arthur shed his evening jacket, loosened his tie and directed a half-amused, half put-upon look at Merlin.

The dog opened its mouth in a yawn; the snapping of his jaws could be heard together with the crackling of the fire.

“What’s with the canine companion?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head and smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t approve, but the kennel master said he was moping, solitary, didn’t play with the other dogs. But he was friendly with me. So I gave him some leg of mutton...”

“That was dinner,” said Arthur undoing the top button of his Ascot and unhooking his watch chain. “Are you admitting to stealing dinner?”

“The leftovers,” Merlin specified. “You eat plenty.”

Arthur sat on the rug next to Merlin and caressed the dog between the ears, even though he was a hunting dog and shouldn’t be coddled too much. They got spoilt if you did. Arthur remembered his father telling him that he shouldn’t cosset the dogs when he’d been a child and had taken a shine to Star, a magnificent greyhound bitch.

“Are you implying I’m over-weight, Merlin?”

Merlin denied that, but he was also reining in his laughter, so Arthur couldn’t be sure Merlin wasn’t teasing him. “You should have kept it to yourself, idiot. If you risk breaking the rules like that, it shouldn’t be for a dog.”

“He was hungry; I wasn’t.”

“They feed the dogs in the kennels.”

Merlin bowed his head to hide his chuckle. “And they feed valets in the kitchens.” He looked up then, all fake-solemn and quirky.

The dog put his head on his paws and Merlin seemed pleased.

Arthur found the picture stupidly heart-warming. He should have told Merlin he had to return the dog to the kennels immediately. He should have vetoed his stealing habits and told him that Arthur couldn’t be seen to shield him if someone realised that Merlin was taking food from the dresser.

If he showed favouritism to him of all people... He dreaded the consequences. People would see he was mad about Merlin, would understand what he meant to him. And this time he wasn’t a boy; his father wouldn’t quash the scandal and Merlin, Merlin would suffer the full consequences of it.

But he didn’t say or do anything that was appropriate to the situation. He leant closer to Merlin, cupped his neck and drew him to him, angling his head and slanting his lips so they brushed against Merlin’s.

Merlin’s reaction was instantaneous; he opened up allowing Arthur to lick into his mouth, deep.

As he did, Merlin started digging his fingernails into the muscle of Arthur’s shoulders, emitting a low sound Arthur interpreted as pleasure. Seeing that Merlin liked it, Arthur stroked deeper with his tongue.

The kiss was so carnal that his hands had to come into play as well.

He slid his hand down to the small of Merlin’s back and pulled him closer to him. He tried to achieve this without breaking the kiss, but it wasn’t so easy and he had to re-negotiate his position.

Merlin panted in his ear, “We have all night long.”

“Indeed,” Arthur said, repositioning himself, so that he was sitting with his legs wrapped around Merlin’s waist, Merlin’s stretched around his hips.

He kissed him once more, swept his tongue over Merlin’s lips and the action was sending these bursts of heat through him, making him shiver. He pushed Merlin’s livery jacket from off his shoulders, ran his hands across their width, feeling it as Merlin took in air, flushed.

“Comfy?” Arthur asked, hands roaming over Merlin’s torso.

“Very,” Merlin said. “It’s warm in here, raining outside,” he added on a gasp as Arthur started running his lips over his throat and jaw. “It’s perfect, really, but....”

“Am I hurting you? Are you cramping up?” Arthur asked. They could move this somewhere more fitting.

“Solicitous,” Merlin said, “but I was thinking about Rudy.”

“Who’s Rudy?” asked Arthur.

Merlin did laugh then, light and unfettered. “The dog...”

Arthur’s laughter got confused with Merlin’s then. “Yes, yes,” he said, still chuckling and disentangling himself from Merlin. “I’m going to entice him into the guest room next to mine, so he can have a nap on the rug there. In the meanwhile,” he added, heaving himself up and clapping his hands together to get Rudy’s attention. “Hold that thought.”

He reddened but focused on leading the dog, whose ears flicked when he heard Arthur’s, “Come on Rudy... up,” outside.

When Rudy stood on all fours, Arthur grabbed him by the collar and gently towed, herding him out and into the other, unoccupied room next to his.

The dog whined when Arthur tried to leave him alone. “Merlin’s already spoilt you rotten, hasn’t he?” So he had to do a bit of generous petting before he was able to regain his room without being barked at.

When he did, he was pleasantly surprised to see that Merlin had shed all his clothes and was sitting on a blanket that he’d placed on top of the rug.

“You,” he gasped. “You’re naked.”

Merlin shot him a flirty look from under his lashes. “I hear that’s what you do when you want to get intimate with someone.”

He laughed at his own sultry tone, but he did touch himself to hardness as Arthur stood there watching. As he pulled, his cock began to lengthen. His fingertips played with it, slipping the foreskin back till the tip was fully exposed. He massaged it till a drop of moisture gleamed from it and Merlin picked it up; licked at it.

As Merlin ran the thumb of his other hand lightly around the rim, closing his eyes, Arthur found the strength to move.

He started stripping, wanting to be able to enjoy the feel of skin on skin, wanting his body close to Merlin’s, touching everywhere.

He could hear Merlin’s quiet sighs as he undressed and this made him move faster. Soon he was naked too.

“Merlin, wait for me,” he said. He’d meant to sound facetious; he'd meant to be joking. Yet he was quite surprised to find that his voice was wrecked, raspy and low.

Merlin opened his eyes and glanced at him. He stopped pleasuring himself and laid himself down.

Arthur slowly padded over to him, breathing already erratic.

Merlin was stretched on a light grey blanket, body slim and long, cock pressed hard against his belly, red and swollen.

Arthur had to breathe out twice before he could collect the presence of spirit to walk over and retrieve a tiny bottle of scented oil from his medicine cabinet and then make it back to Merlin.

He took a moment or two to let his eyes feast on him, because this was the first time Merlin had fully undressed before him.

Arthur could see the ridge of the scar that ran from his knee to the side of his thigh, but that didn’t detract anything from what he perceived as Merlin’s appeal. It was just a scar, a part of Merlin and Arthur took it in and realised Merlin was trusting him with it.

This sense of trust made him feel as though they had progressed further, so he took courage in both hands and did something he'd wanted, had fantasised about but had seldom asked for.

If Merlin could let him see, then Arthur could let him know about his desires. He lowered himself over Merlin’s prone body and straddled him so Merlin’s bare cock was pushing between Arthur’s cheeks, sliding back and forth, wet and hot.

Arthur’s legs were trembling and not because of the strain engendered by the position he was in; the head of Merlin’s cock brushed against Arthur’s hole and it set his heart to thundering in his chest.

His throat went dry and he couldn’t help but try to picture what would happen next, how that would feel.

Arthur fumbled with the little bottle, unstoppered it, took one of Merlin’s hands in his, bracing himself with the other and by using his knees.

He poured the oil over Merlin’s fingers until they were liberally coated, drove his hand and guided it so Merlin could push a finger inside him.

Merlin’s eyes widened, unfocused with surprise and lust.

Arthur gave him a tiny smile, then closed his own eyes and leant down, blindly kissing Merlin as Merlin’s fingers opened him up, stretched him, pushing inside, till it was no longer painful. It took a while but it happened.

He keened, and took to kissing Merlin open-mouthed and meltingly wet, tongue thrusting forward as Merlin’s fingers were.

He did this to take his mind off the idea of Merlin pushing into him. It was overwhelming, too much, too good.

When they stopped kissing, Merlin started saying things, like his name murmured softly against his lips and other things, mostly incoherent ramblings that were y both sweet and not wholly rational.

And then, blinded by pleasure as Merlin took to playing with the right spot inside him, he opened his eyes again, braced himself by placing both hands on Merlin’s sternum and slowly sank down, taking him in, the head first, which elicited a gasp from him, and then he kept on lowering himself at his own pace, adapting to the feeling of fullness, of being spread wide-open, till he was seated in Merlin’s lap, looking into his eyes, drops of sweat meandering down the side of his face, feeling the wonder of this.

Arthur was breathing fast, chest rising and falling, gazing at Merlin, who swallowed and clenched and unclenched his hands till he found a proper place for them, holding Arthur by the hips, though he was taking care to stay still.

“How are you?” he asked, neck and torso flush covered, eyes almost black with mounting passion. “Is this?” Merlin tried again. “Is this all right. I...”

“More than,” Arthur rasped and then he started rocking his pelvis back and forwards into Merlin, so he was circling his hips around him, moving back and forth, going faster and then finding the joy of slowing down, watching Merlin’s reaction, watching as Merlin threw his head back, gripped Arthur’s hip as if it was his only life-line, the one action keeping him centred.

He didn’t let Merlin thrust, setting the pace himself, enjoying this slow uncoiling of everything that was civilised in him till he could only feel, be stimulated.

Merlin’s cock, got deeper into him with every little forward jerk of his slim hips. It was simply amazing; the more so when Merlin angled his hips in a way that made Arthur’s vision go blurry, fired his lower belly and caused little shocks to run down his spine.

They were both producing wet moans, little hitched sounds that followed the cadence of their bodies.

Arthur was brought to the brink of sexual ecstasy, but he checked Merlin, got him to almost still, to savour this before the last inevitable headlong rush into pleasure.

He meant to draw out the sex till it was unbearable, till the fullness, the intimacy, got to be almost too much.

And then he speeded up, riding Merlin faster, and putting a hand on himself till it was too much, a complete sensory overload coming from two directions at once.

Knowing he was so, so close, he bent down, burrowed his face in Merlin’s hair, surrendering to his need, come splashing onto Merlin’s belly while Merlin came inside him a few shallow little thrusts later.

A moment or two passed and he found himself draped all over Merlin, feeling his body against him, under his, hot and sweaty and sticky.

He licked a drop of sweat from off Merlin’s temple, while Merlin slipped out, leaving him bereft, a little adrift, savouring the taste of something new, a sense memory he was sure he'd never forget.

He buried his smile in Merlin’s cheek and murmured, “I think this calls for a repeat performance.”

Merlin laughed, heartily but tiredly. “I was a little fantastic, wasn’t I?”

“No, no,” Arthur said, mouthing his earlobe. “No, it’s practice that makes perfect, didn’t you know that, Merlin?”

“Who said I haven’t practiced?” Merlin questioned sleepily, though the intent to be cheeky was all still there.

Arthur hit Merlin on the arm, a half-hearted little punch that made Merlin giggle.

“I like it here,” Merlin said and Arthur nodded his head. He liked having Merlin there.

****

Cedric had watched them, his Lordship and Emrys, growing closer together till he had no doubt left.

There was little room for it. If at first he could have told himself that maybe the two were being platonic, he was slowly provided with proof that pointed to the contrary. The week after Lord Asherton was wounded whilst grouse shooting, Cedric had watched the earl as he started the practice of summoning Merlin to the drawing room where they’d talk for hours.

Lord Asherton was with them, and the man adored Emrys for having helped as they waited for the transport that would convey him to hospital, but it was still strange that an employer would get so cosy with a servant.

After that Cedric made a point to observe them more attentively still.

He told Forridel that he would take on the cleaning of the second floor banister, from where his lordship’s room could be safely watched, saving her from having to do it herself.

This action was to be performed on alternate days so that no dust could gather. The Earl of Albion did like his house neat and clean.

On the first morning of his new duty, Cedric found out one peculiar fact. He saw Emyrs exiting his Lordship’s room at seven o’clock, a time when most servants were still having breakfast and thus off duty.

That alone couldn’t be considered suspicious however, since noblemen were fussy people and he himself had twice been summoned by Lord Asherton to stoke the fire in his room. The sun hadn’t been up in the sky yet.

What was surely to be found odd was the fact that when Merlin returned some twenty minutes later, he was wearing a fresh shirt that smelt of laundry and carrying the earl’s breakfast tray.

Now it was safe to assume that since he hadn’t been in the room to deliver breakfast before, he’d been doing something else.

Cedric considered this proof. And yet he would have to make sure. He wanted to establish that the only reason Emrys had been preferred to him as a valet consisted of the obscure dealings going on between him and the Earl of Albion.

On another morning a few days later something similar happened though this time Cedric took care to point out the oddity to Merlin.

“Merlin,” he said, passing a hand over his forehead to show that he’d been working hard at the banister, “have you delivered his Lordship’s breakfast so early?”

Merlin, who’d just emerged from the earl’s room, looked shifty indeed. At least till he had the presence of mind to recover a little.

“No,” Merlin said. “I’ll do that now. I had to fetch him a blanket first.”

“A blanket?” Cedric enquired in the most innocent tone he could muster. “The night was rather warm for the season.”

Merlin shrugged his shoulders. “The earl must have felt cold,” he said in a weak voice. He was lying, Cedric felt sure. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have to fetch his breakfast.”

Merlin was already down the first flight of steps when Cedric said, “He has taken to having breakfast in bed more often.”

Merlin didn’t reply and Cedric didn’t wait for him to come back bearing the breakfast tray. He wanted to verify Merlin’s blanket story himself, even though he was sure it was a big, fat lie.

There was only a person who might know, the between-maid. A between maid was among the lowest ranking members of staff and the only person a valet would dare wake before dawn to get access to the linen cupboard.

Dorothy, the between maid in question, was cleaning the stove range with black-lead when Cedric bounced upon her.

“Dorothy,” he said, “you look more tired than usual.” It wasn’t true; the girl looked healthy enough if not clean, her hands being dirty and her formerly white apron even more so. Her hands and arms were chapped to the elbows, he could see that because she’d rolled up her sleeves, but as for the rest she seemed fine. “Were you woken up too early?” he fished.

“See those brass saucepans hanging on the wall?” she asked instead. “I’ll have to clean them with sand and vinegar next. It’s really hard so I don’t have time for this.”

Horrible girl, Cedric thought. Horrible and ugly. “But did you see Merlin this morning?”

Dorothy, retrieved some wooden matchsticks from the oven where they had been put overnight to dry out. She industriously lit them with the coal that had been placed on top of them. This way she got the ancient range going.

“Merlin?” she asked distractedly when she was done.

“Yes, Merlin. His lordship’s valet.”

“Nice fellow,” said Dorothy, heading for the steps that led down to the scullery where the sinks had been placed to be out of sight. She began washing her hands in cold water. “Yes, nice fellow, but I’d remember if I’d seen him this morning and I haven’t.”

“He didn’t ask you to open the linen cupboard?”

She shook her head.

“And he didn’t ask any other maid?”

“We were all sleeping quite soundly in the girls’ quarters,” she answered.

And that was all he needed. “Good to know,” he said, and marched out of the scullery and kitchens.

After having talked to Dorothy, Cedric was even more sure that he'd hit on something. The next logical step was getting some positive proof, of the kind that could never be doubted. Potentially Merlin might have lied for another reason, though Cedric didn't believe that for a single moment.

He was playing devil's advocate here.

The following evening, a Friday, Cedric decided to put his plan into action. Unfortunately spying effectively on one's own master took some thought and it wasn't so easy as it seemed, not with the butler interfering.

If Gaius learnt of Cedric's aims, Cedric would be finding himself without a job. He didn't look forward to that in the least.

After the servants' dinner, he declared quite loudly that he had a headache. “It's a terrible one,” he said, trying to inspire some sympathy.

Gaius eyed him as though he didn't necessarily believe him, but Alice looked worried since she, like most of them, had heard that there was a fever running in the village.

Even Freya sounded as though she wanted to comfort him.

“I'll take a stroll around the park,” Cedric said in a feeble voice. “I'm sure some fresh air will do me good.”

Gaius said, “I'll leave the servants' door open then. Take as long as you wish.”

This was exactly what Cedric had been looking for. He left the dining hall, trying not to rub his hands together. That would have alerted them to his intentions. He loitered in the park for more than two hours, waiting for a time when all servants should be dutifully asleep.

If he'd gone to bed with the others, someone might have noticed his sneaking out; this way it would never happen and he had a legitimate cause to be out of his room.

Now to see whether Merlin had a reason not to be where he should. Cedric made for the door to the servants quarters, which he found unlatched as Gaius had promised, climbed the stairs and stole to the second floor.

Once there, he looked around, hoping none of his Lordship's noble guests would feel the need to leave their room, and kicked off his shoes so as to make as little noise as possible.

He took care to leave them in a corner where they wouldn't be noticed should someone pass by.

The last thing he needed was for the Lady Morgana to stumble into them.

He crept along the corridor and slowly approached the earl's door. He leant his ear against it and frowned.

The sounds coming from behind the closed door were conclusive. Cedric heard moans and sighs even though some of them were clearly stifled.

Someone was having sex in there. Cedric could clearly distinguish two separate voices, and although he couldn't be positive as to identities, since a moan sounded very much like any other moan, he was sure of the fact itself.

He'd heard enough to decide he'd have to put a stop to this so he could have the job he deserved and wasn't given just because his Lordship was enjoying Emrys' services in too literal a way.

He barely slept that night but he remembered to come up with a plan. One he knew would be successful.

During lunch break, when all the other servants were gathered around their own table and his Lordship was in the library for an after lunch coffee, Cedric stole to the second floor and into the earl's room as he'd done the night before.

Closing the door behind him, he strode to a tiny cabinet he'd sometimes helped to move for cleaning reasons.

He opened the glass door and took a pair of crested golden cuff links that he knew used to belong to the late earl.

This pair was valuable in so many ways. For one thing each cuff link was dragon shaped, diamonds representing the beast's eyes. Their market value was high because of the gemstones they were adorned with.

Furthermore, the young earl favoured them as a memento of his deceased father, their emotional value a certainty.

Cedric took them and put them in his pocket, closed the cabinet and slinked out of the door.

He stuck his hand into his pocket, found the object he'd purloined, smiled to himself and prepared to go looking for a place to hide it.

****

 

Detective Inspector Cenred King eyed the man Constable Fisher had apprehended while lurking about the park attached to the Pendragon mansion.

The man was tall and thin and somewhat bedraggled in appearance. He wore clothes that looked as though they were third hand, a straggly beard in which some exotic kind of fauna might thrive, and an inane expression that convinced Cenred this man had to be the village idiot.

He was currently twiddling his thumbs and appeared very engrossed by the activity.

One of Cenred's officers approached him and the man burst in a peal of syncopated laughter that sounded very much like braying.

Their suspect was scrunching up his nose as he laughed and his front teeth, which were otherwise normally sized, suddenly seemed more prominent.

Fisher, who'd approached the suspect to question him, rubbed at the side of his temple and left him to approach his superior.

“William Dayra,” Fisher recited. “From a nearby village. He's a little tipsy but isn't drunk and according to the pub-owner he isn't a drunkard or a regular. He admitted to poaching on the estate when we caught him, sir, but....”

“What?” Cenred asked sternly.

“He didn't have a rifle with him, I doubt he even knows how to use one and I'm not certain he gets what our questions are all about.”

“So he's a little dim.”

Fisher raised both eyebrows. “I'll say. He might have snared some rabbits, but I seriously doubt he's the poacher who shot Lord Asherton, sir.”

Cenred observed their suspect. He didn't appear to be dangerous but he might be so absent-minded as to have improperly used a hunting weapon and inadvertently shot someone. He might have got scared later and discarded the rifle. “Yet he confessed.”

“He did, sir, yet again I'm not sure he understands what he's confessing to.”

“Criminals lie Fisher.”

“This one is hardly a criminal, sir. He's just scatter-brained.”

“Enough,” Cenred said, deciding a solved case was better than an open one, more so when a nobleman of the Earl of Albion's status was involved. “He confessed. We're arresting him for now. It's not up to us to establish his guilt.”

Fisher clicked his heels and said, “Very well, sir.”

“Warn the earl that we have the culprit.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And explain to Dayra that he's under arrest and will spend the night in a cell.”

Fisher wiped his brow with his forearm. He didn't seem too happy to impart the news and his tone conveyed that. “Yes, sir.”

Cenred nodded and ambled back into his office.

****

Gwen was conscious of Lancelot's hand in hers, knew that they were about to enter the manor house with their fingers interlocked.

She wasn't sure she should be making this kind of statement just yet, was second-guessing herself at every turn, but could admit that the sensation was more than pleasant. It was compelling. As each of Lancelot's soft kisses had been. She clung to him, going with the flow, the happiness of the moment, daring to do something she would have needed to mull over much more had she been left to herself.

But Lancelot had smiled, taken her hand, kissed her knuckles and wisdom, which she'd always tried to court, had flown out the window. She was filled to bursting point with a low simmering sense of happiness and satisfaction; she felt things were slotting into place, were going where they should for once in her life.

Bearing adversities had become easier for her through the years, and her early lot in life had made for many, but not having to fight felt perfect and sweet.

Lancelot was perfect and deserving and maybe, just maybe, she felt that perhaps they could learn to deserve each other's best moments and to put up with their own failures.

She was happy and was therefore astounded to find that not everybody was basking in sunshine today.

When she and Lancelot walked into the main hall it was to find some commotion going on.

Cedric was standing in the middle of the hallway, half-shouting hysterically. “I saw them there! They were amongst his things.”

Arthur was grasping the banister, face stormy. “I just said I lost them. I never meant to accuse any of my servants of having taken them.”

Gwen frowned and was confused. She didn't know what they were talking about. Only Morgana's household things concerned her.

“Your Lordship,” Cedric began again, “when you announced they were missing I took it upon myself to retrieve them, feeling sure you might have dropped them or accidentally misplaced them.”

Going by Arthur's expression it was clear he wasn't being appreciative of Cedric's solicitude.

“Imagine my surprise when I learnt that your valet had taken them and hidden them under his bed.”

Merlin, who was standing next to Arthur, made a move as if to go and assault Cedric.

Arthur restrained him by wrapping his hand around his wrist and murmuring something in his ear.

“And what were you doing searching your co-workers' rooms?”

“My lord,” said Cedric in a tone that sounded falsely humble, “As I said, I looked everywhere. It didn't occur to me to think that your valet had stolen them till I saw them there. If I had found them on his desk I would have thought he'd meant to polish them, though God knows why one might want to polish gold cuff-links.”

Gwen finally understood as Lancelot did, for he squeezed her hand in his. Nobody noticed this gesture however, for all eyes were pointed at the trio comprised of Arthur, Cedric and Merlin.

Merlin had started yelling, “I've never stolen anything in my life. You're lying, you bastard!”

Cedric tutted and said, “I think you have it wrong. You took food scraps from the kitchen before! You’ve now graduated from that and moved onto jewellery theft. When I found out, I investigated you. Apparently you're the bastard, and the thief! My lord I cannot do anything but report this to the police. My scruples won't be set at rest otherwise.”

“Merlin hasn't stolen anything from me,” Arthur said. “I refuse to believe it.”

“I'm afraid, my lord, that his actions speak for him.”

“I never did, please,” Merlin said, looking at Arthur soulfully. His eyes were wet, his upper lip was trembling, and his hands were clenched into fists.

Gwen, for one, was sure he wasn't lying. He was too upset at the accusation to be lying. But having been long in service, she could easily see where this would be going.

“I never took anything from you,” Merlin said in a low, earnest voice. “I never would. That's not why I accepted the job, or stayed on. You have to see that. You must...”

Arthur put a hand on Merlin's shoulder. It was a quick gesture, a half-pat, half-squeeze, but Gwen guessed it was a show of support on Arthur's part.

“Merlin is my valet and can take anything from me as he sees fit,” he said. “I merely enquired as to whether anyone had seen my cuff-links. I never hinted at them having been stolen.”

“I still say we have a thief in our midst,” Cedric scoffed.

Gwen had to admit the way the other servants were looking at Merlin was changing. The warm regard some of the staff, like Will and Forridel, had held him in was fast evaporating. For a servant there wasn't a worse accusation. They all lived in a place where they were daily tempted. Servants were poor but nobody had ever dared take something from the earl, even if it would have made their lives easier to bear.

It was a question of honour. And if someone was suspected of having done so he would be hated upon for having given the whole group a bad reputation.

They would all be expecting him to steal from them as well. Nobody would want to defend a thief.

Gaius, though, didn't seem to believe Merlin was guilty. “I don't think we should rush to conclusions if the earl says he never meant to accuse anyone.”

The housekeeper was nodding to this.

“He's being kind,” Cedric returned. “He's covering for his valet. But how can we in good conscience fail to report this to the police?

“Enough!” Arthur declared. “Merlin isn't guilty. He has my trust.” And then Arthur looked at Merlin in a way Gwen hadn't seen him look in years. The last time that look had been directed at herself; as if Merlin had hung the moon and stars and Arthur was the sole judge of his perfections. “I trust you.”

Merlin gave him a half-smile that was so very warm it made Gwen melt on the spot. “Thank you. Now I know you do and it's... I'll take that with me.”

“Merlin...”

Gwen pressed Lance's hand, dreading the next words that would come out of Merlin's mouth.

“I'm giving my notice, my lord,” Merlin said in a dry voice. “I think it would be the best choice. I'm innocent but I know there are people who won't be ready to believe me or would prefer to find me guilty.”

Arthur's stricken face was terrible to watch. Gwen hadn't seen him wear his heart on his sleeve in years, ever since he'd been a boy and he'd told her she was special and the only one who understood him. Her heart had gone out to that boy then and was going to him now.

“Merlin, think about it, please,” Arthur said, taking a step forward. “I never thought you'd take anything without my permission. I never suspected you to be anything but honest. I owe you a debt of honour.”

Merlin's small smile was heart-rending. “It's been a pleasure, my lord.”

****

Merlin spent the rest of the day in a kind of daze, not knowing what to do with himself. He'd grown stupidly attached to his duties, and now that he was at loose ends, he had no idea how to prioritise.

He wended his way towards his room when he found he was loafing about, disturbing the other servants' busy schedule.

He sat on his bed, thinking he'd have to pack up his things and go. He had his case under his bed and his handful of clothes was in the cupboard. He'd just have to take some of his other personal belongings from the drawer — he had a razor, a comb, a couple of books and some other odds and ends — and he would be ready to leave. He'd have to check the paper for the trains' timetable and he could be out of the manor in a few hours.

There was no hurry of course. Arthur hadn't kicked him out, so he could also kick back and relax, stare at the ceiling and leave the next morning, but he couldn't do that. The longer he stayed under that roof, the more powerful the urge to punch and kick Cedric became. He wanted to wring his neck and he would if faced with him.

Before Merlin could give into his newfound murderous tendencies, there was a knock on his door.

He said, ”Come in,” and Freya peered in.

“I was wondering whether you had a moment.”

“Sure,” Merlin said, patting the spot on the bed next to him. There was no other place to sit because his room was so very small.

Freya sat down, folding her hands in her lap. “I know Cedric is lying.”

“I always knew you'd support me.”

“No.” Freya shook her head. “I mean, yes, I would have trusted you, even if I had no proof. But after Cedric made his accusation, I might have sneaked into his room and found the crested cuff links in his possession. See,” she said excitably, “he took them himself in order to accuse you. He's had them all along. They were never in here.”

Merlin took her hand in his. “I'm sure it went down that way. But we can't prove that. He'll say he took them after having found them among my things. And I can't disprove that. So in the end it makes no difference.”

“But—”

“Freya, please,” Merlin said past the frog in his throat, “I know you're trying to help, but he crafted the perfect accusation. There's little I can do to defend myself and I'd rather Arthur didn't have to do it for me. He would, you know. If he believed it was the necessary, upright thing to do.”

“It would be.”

“Maybe, but I'm just a servant. He shouldn't have to stick his neck out for me. I'm happy he tried but it must be kept hushed.”

“You're more than a servant to him,” Freya said, kissing the corner of Merlin's mouth. “And I'm glad he did the right thing and tried to protect you when we were all gathered in the hall.”

“And I'll do the same by him.”

Freya stood, looking around, “I'll help you with your things then.”

“Don't you have a lot of work to do? And isn't it a bit improper for you to be here?” he asked, blushing. If his heart wasn't somewhere else, somewhere forbidden, he knew this would be construed very differently.

Opening the little cupboard that graced Merlin's tiny room, Freya said, “Mrs Corr will understand.”

She did help him pack, rationalising the procedure. When Merlin had packed to come down, little expecting to be done quite so soon and for reasons so far from the truth he should have laughed at how extravagant they were, he'd thrown things in haphazardly.

Now Freya was being thrifty with the space left, folding his shirts in a way that wouldn't allow them to get irreparably creased, putting his collars by their side, so he'd know which one belonged to which shirt.

He could put his comb inside his piece of luggage without sticking it in his coat pocket as he'd done on his journey to the manor. Her technique was much more functional.

“That's perfect,” he said, looking down at Freya's orderly packing. “My life in a case.”

She squeezed his elbow. “Where will you be going? Will you write to me?”

“For tonight... I think the local inn would be the first step. Then London. I'll be sure to find a job of some kind there. I'm sure I'll even manage to get a good reference.”

He was trying to look at the half-full glass, he was aware of that, but there was little he could do about what had happened. He couldn't put Arthur in an untenable position. A servant suspected of theft wouldn't be countenanced and if Arthur defended him despite that, people would ask why.

He'd still miss him more than he could tell. He'd miss dressing him in the morning of all stupid things, touching him. He was very, very fond of their dressing routine. “I'll write to you. I promise, Freya.”

His heart was breaking a little, first losing Arthur, then Freya's kindness.

“Thank you,” she said. “I think we'll always be friends. And remember, should you want to charge Cedric back, I'll speak up for you. I can build a case.”

Her voice sounded firm and confident.

Merlin hugged her to him, said, “I appreciate that,” and watched her go amid a sea of sniffles. Some of them he might have emitted himself.

He closed the case and made sure he hadn't forgotten anything, sparing his room a last parting glance.

After having said his good-byes to Gaius, whom he'd grown rather fond of, and Mrs Corr, Merlin left, heading for the local inn.

****

He found her in the winter garden as she pruned a potted tree's leaves. He took off his hat and tucked it under his arm.

She turned around, looking pleased to see him there. “I loathe this kind of ladylike pastime,” she commented, pointing her scissors at the plant she'd been seeing to.

He smirked. “I realise that.”

“There's nothing to look so smug about.”

“If you married me you could act as you please,” Alvarr pointed out. “You know my stance on the vote and how women should be treated.”

“I do.”

“So?” he pressed. He wished for an answer and she hadn't yet given him one he could be satisfied with. Following her here might have been a bad idea and not just because he could be found idling in a place he didn't belong to. Forcing Morgana in any way was always counterproductive. He had her measure.

“So?”

“Don't be coy now,” he chided her. “That's very ladylike.”

She discarded her scissors and directed a glare at him. “Yes.”

“You're marrying me?”

“Now who's being coy?” she asked.

****

Arthur sat on the armchair placed opposite his bed. Night had fallen and he was wearing his pyjamas and a warm dressing gown. He should be sleeping but he couldn't quite calm the churning thoughts that had been overwhelming him for quite some time.

He'd tried lying down and closing his eyes but he could only think about how ugly it all was.

Looking out the window in the semi-darkness, he attempted to define this state of ugliness.

He owed Merlin his life and his current happiness and yet he couldn't protect him from a wild accusation.

Anyone who knew Merlin would also be ready to swear that Merlin was no thief, would never steal, let alone from him.

And Arthur had come to be close to Merlin, intimately, and knew what to expect of him. He blamed the hypocrites who were numerous in society for forcing Arthur’s hand and making him choose silence over Merlin’s ruin.

He could have defended Merlin despite Cedric's open accusation and he was ready to retain his services despite the slur against Merlin's character, but he could never openly proclaim what he thought: that Merlin had brought him life and smiles, that Merlin had become a friend while serving, that he'd taught him about simplicity, taking things at face value and enjoying the moment, things that had escaped him before, things that had he sought to define them, would have perplexed him, though he'd long suspected they existed and would have made his life more enjoyable.

And yet Merlin was now gone. Arthur had been told by Gaius himself. Apparently Merlin had left during the afternoon, saying his good-byes to a limited number of people that didn't include Arthur.

Arthur rose to pace. Why had that been? Had Merlin wanted him to beg for him to stay?

Arthur didn't think so. Merlin would have told him; he would have made his feelings known. More likely than not he'd simply wagered this was the best kind of conduct in the circumstances.

Arthur had just paced the whole length of the room and was about to face the other way to start again when he heard a noise coming from downstairs.

His first thought was that burglars had to have crept inside the old house, but he dismissed it, thinking no one would have the guts to try and rob him. He was one of the most important and respected men in the countryside thanks to his title and his fathers’ reputation. No one would risk that.

His second idea was that Merlin had come back, sneaked into the big old place to talk to him before he left.

Arthur flung the door open and made his way downstairs, now sure that his second supposition had to be right.

What he hadn't been waiting for was the sight of a hunting rifle pointed at him, levelled directly at his chest. The rifle was held by his chauffeur and given the malevolent glint in his eyes, Arthur couldn't believe it was a coincidence or a mistake.

Alvarr did want to train his weapon on him. The question was why; even though the fact itself was not to be disputed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, playing dumb to buy time. The household was asleep, but if he made enough noise he could get enough help to overpower Alvarr. Alone he could try; though the odds wouldn't be stacked in his favour.

“Guess, my lord,” Alvarr sneered.

“What would you gain by killing me?”

Alvarr cocked the hammer of his weapon until it clicked into the full-cock position. “The Lady Morgana agreed to marry me. Unfortunately, as things stand, she's little more than an ornament. Beautiful but with no real power.”

Arthur laughed. “And so you think that by killing me she would come into the property, defeating the entail, and via her you would get your hands on it? You're labouring under some kind of misconception as to Morgana's character.”

Alvarr raised a cynical eyebrow. “I don't think so.”

“I'm sorry,” Arthur said, “but the property would be hers, not yours. Should she choose to get rid of you, you'd be left with nothing. And Morgana's passionate but her passions may blow cold.”

Arthur was bluffing. He was appalled more than anything else at the idea that Morgana had entrusted Alvarr, with whom she must have had something going, with killing him. He couldn’t be sure she had been in on the plan and that Alvarr hadn’t imposed upon her, but even the mere hints of that made him recoil. If it was so...

His heart was clenching in his chest, the betrayal feeling huge and terrible and mostly incomprehensible because despite their rivalry and his occasional jealousy of the role Morgana had played in father's eyes – the beautiful, splendid daughter who was too beloved for reproach to touch her – Arthur loved her dearly.

“I'm getting her what she wants,” Alvarr said, finger going for the trigger. “Why wouldn't she appreciate that?”

“I'm her brother.”

Alvarr hesitated, pointing the muzzle lower.

That was when Arthur heard a noise, a noise he knew well: the one made by the servants quarters' door creaking open.

It could have been one of Alvarr's accomplices but Arthur doubted he had any.

Arthur looked out of the corner of his eyes in the direction the noise was coming from and realised that Merlin was there, looking up from the stairwell.

To cover the sound of Merlin's footsteps, Arthur engaged Alvarr again. “Think before you do anything,” he said.

“She wouldn't...”

“That's what I believed as well,” Arthur said. “I thought she was family.” Merlin inched closer from behind Alvarr, who was too tense to notice the ex-servant creeping up on him.

Arthur could only try to help Merlin, offer him some cover and try to jump aside when the inevitable happened.

“You're ambitious but foolish,” Arthur said. “Has she ordered you to do this? Has she?”

Alvarr's teeth glinted in the half darkness.

And then there was a flurry of movement.

Merlin, limp and all, bounded over to tackle Alvarr from behind, Alvarr pulled the trigger, but Arthur had already dived to the side, tumbling down a couple of steps in the process.

A shot was fired; Merlin had launched himself at Alvarr and Arthur, realising he was whole, helped him tackle the man, grappling with him, wrestling the hunting rifle, one of Arthur's by the way, out of his hands.

“You would have done it,” Arthur spat. “You'd have killed a man.”

Merlin was holding Alvarr down.

Alvarr, nose pushed into the carpet runner, growled, “And why should you deserve all of this? Why?”

The shot had woken people up and soon Gaius, Cedric, and some other servants streamed into the hall.

“Fetch the police,” he ordered. “This man attempted to kill me.”

Gaius sent one of the errand boys to do as Arthur had bid, the lad still in his night things. When Arthur had ascertained that the lad had taken off in the direction of the nearest police station, he proclaimed, “Merlin saved my life.”

There were appreciative and curious murmurs and then Morgana appeared, clad in her nightgown only, feet bare, hair down and flowing.

She looked like a drowning Ophelia when she took in what had happened.

Arthur stared at her, trying to fathom if she had been in on the plan or not, wanting to know if his own sister had had a hand in his attempted murder. Her eyes and behaviour didn't give anything away as she looked merely dazed.

“Go back to your room,” he snapped at her and for once proud Morgana obeyed him, forsaking Alvarr as though he was nothing.

 

****

“The police have Alvarr in their custody,” Arthur said. “They released William Dayra, the poor fellow who was accused of having poached on my premises and wounded Leon. They charged Alvarr instead. However he'll probably threaten to involve Morgana. I can't have that.”

“Not even if she's guilty?” Merlin asked from his perch on Arthur's bedroom armchair.

“Not even then,” Arthur said, nursing a well-deserved stiff drink. “She's my sister. It goes without saying that I want her in London. I won't live under the same roof as her.”

“Have you talked to her yet?”

“No.” He sipped at his whisky. “I'll have to face her in the morning but I can't bring myself to do it right now. I’m dreading the answer.” He paused, watching as Merlin massaged his knee. “What about you? Why did you come back?”

“You're hard to let go of,” Merlin said wryly.

“But you didn't mean to stay. You just wanted to...” He gulped, fixed his gaze on the portrait that had been hung behind the armchair Merlin was seated on. “Say good-bye.”

“Kiss you good-bye.”

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “You saved my life once more.”

“I like you alive.”

“And now everybody knows you did. You could stay... if you wanted to. Cedric's accusations wouldn't hold against your acts of heroism.”

“I never wanted to go,” Merlin said earnestly. “Don't make it sound as though I liked it.”

“I have a proposal,” Arthur said, asking Merlin to hear him out with his eyes. “You don't have to be a valet full time. You can get some schooling. Enough to bring you on a par with grammar school kids. So as to get into a university in due time. The things you learnt while in hospital...” Arthur floundered, looking for words. “How you helped with Leon. It's valuable knowledge. You have a gift, a talent not many possess, and I think I should support you, make it possible for you to cultivate that. It'd be entirely on me. It's not as though I don't owe you my life twice over.”

“You want me to...”

“If you liked it I thought you could try your hand at some medical studies.”

Merlin shook his head but his eyes were speaking for him, wet with tears and wide as they now were.

“Thank you for the offer,” he said, rising to meet Arthur in the middle of the room and coming to stand face to face with him. “For now I'll be happy to be your valet. But I'll consider that and who knows, maybe one day, they'll let a working class boy be a doctor...”

Arthur grabbed Merlin by the shoulders to look him in the eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted and he said, “Yes, who knows? Though they'll have to put up with your insubordinate temper.”

“They'll come to like it,” Merlin said, dancing closer till he was practically in Arthur's arms. “As you did.”

“I never said I liked that trait of yours.”

“No.” Merlin kissed the corner of Arthur's lips. “You never said it in so many words. But it'll keep.”

 

****

“Why did you do it? Did you know he wanted me dead?”

Morgana looked up, loose hair crowning her head. She looked like a warrior and like a porcelain beauty at the same time.

“I see,” Arthur said. “You'll have to leave this house. I no longer trust you.” He didn't say anything else, voice any other thought, though the how could yous and why would yous were tormenting him. He'd be seeking an answer till kingdom come. He guessed he was alone; had no family left.

Morgana rose stiffly and said. “I was the first born. But he played me. I didn’t-—” She held her peace.

“You’re my sister,” Arthur said and since he had no more words to offer he left the room.

Maybe they could reconcile one day, but that day wasn’t today.

The End


End file.
